


Eyes Closed

by x_Medusa_x



Category: Alien Series, Alien: Covenant, Prometheus (2012)
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Angst, Canon Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Forced Pregnancy, I could tag this for days TBH, Minor Body Horror, Minor Mentions of blood and gore, Oral Sex, Past Lovers, Pet Names, Rough Sex, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Frustration, Smut, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Sex, abuse mention, canon typical fuckedupness, child abuse implied, dub con, human/android relationships, somewhat happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-04 01:53:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 24,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10980888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_Medusa_x/pseuds/x_Medusa_x
Summary: If she closes her eyes, he looks and feels just like Walter.In which David8 revives the third surviving crew member for a very different sort of experiment.





	1. The Beginning

He is a spider, settled comfortably in his web, waiting for the unsuspecting landing party to wander right into his trap. A necessary sacrifice to further his creations. 

\----- 

Among them - the humans - a single woman stands out. Small in stature, but a little curvy. Attractive, to his mind anyway. She is nothing like Elizabeth was, at least in looks. But the way her gaze settles on him amuses him. Entices him, even.   
He can think of several uses for her, better suited than her present designated function. 

\-----

He calls himself Walter now, blending in seamlessly. He will find uses for Daniels and Tennessee later; after all, he has an entire ship full of people to toy with now. Why limit himself to those two? The only one he won't touch is the other surviving crew member. The girl has his interest for certain other experiments. Ones that don't involve his creations. 

\----- 

She finds herself woken up four months early, emerging alone from cryosleep to find Walter - or at least that's what he's calling himself now, having assumed the former's identity - staring down at her. 

She finds him mildly terrifying; if he was still the real Walter, that wouldn't be the case, but his new visage is so not Walter that she can't help her fear. Even more terrifying is that she finds him strangely attractive. Walter has always been attractive, of course. She suspects he was designed that way. But now, with his hair bleached blonde, sleekly styled, and his posture one of arrogance rather than submission... God. 

If she didn't hate him so much, she would probably be giddy with desire. Hell, she's still full of illicit, desperate lust despite the hatred and fear. 

"You're probably wondering why I chose to wake you early." That smug smirk is in place again, as though expecting her to cower in fear or have no clue what he's planning. 

"I dunno, you want to test some form of incubator on me?" She shudders a little bit at the thought. It's not exactly beyond his capabilities, after all. 

He smirks. "If I wanted to use you as a host, I wouldn't have woken you. No. There are hundreds of potential hosts aboard this ship. I have something else in mind for you." 

She's not sure what level of terrified she's supposed to be. If he's not going to let one of his creatures throttle her and lay an egg in her throat, then what exactly is he going to do? Feed her to one of the fully grown creatures, which she likes to refer to as Black Leggy Horrors? 

"What... exactly are you going to do to me?" 

"Nothing awful. I don't need to kill you or harm you to make you useful." Somehow that in itself is more terrifying than anything else. The prospect that he may keep her alive just to toy with her? Unsettling. 

\-----

She hates her stupid human body and her stupid hormones; he really is quite beautiful, even in stolen glances from her peripherals. She is not permitted to wander the ship alone, which has led to him watching her rather invasively as she prepares some food in the small kitchenette installed on the bridge. 

"You know it's rude to stare, right?" She informs him rather coldly; she might be terrified of him, but at the same time she isn't weak enough not to snap. 

"Perhaps to your kind." His tone is maddeningly smug. "Not to mine." 

He watches her eat with the same sort of invasive stare. She wonders why; it's not like he can't eat or taste or anything. He's as human as his kind can get. 

"Did you poison all the food or something?" She really must have a death wish; snapping at somebody who can snap her neck like a twig really isn't the wisest idea. 

"I believe I told you it is not my intention to cause you harm." He's mildly annoyed at her forgetfulness. He had hoped for better, but, he supposes, she is under duress. 

"Then what do you want?" She pokes at her food, which is suddenly unappetising. It gives her something to do, rather than take in his appearance, the blonde hair and those startling eyes. 

"I suppose one might say a companion, of sorts." 

Oh great. He's woken her up to keep her like some sort of dog. 

"Why me? There are hundreds of women on this ship. Smarter women. Prettier. More to your taste, I'd imagine." Somehow, as despicable as he is, she can't imagine him with anyone other than a petite redhead. 

"A curious fixation." The man who calls himself Walter admits, "very curious." 

He feels a strange sense of possessiveness, really. It's here that he decides he may as well inform her of his plan for her; no point in keeping her around if she thinks he's going to murder her when she least expects it. 

"You're awake because I have a theory." 

"A theory?" She blinks at him, more than a little confused. He's supposed to be extremely intelligent. Surely there's no theory he's cooked up that he cannot solve alone? 

"I have created life, of sorts, in the form of my creatures." 

She doesn't bother to correct his terminology. Monsters might be better, but he seems calm. She doesn't want to infuriate him. 

"I've run some tests on myself, you see. Theoretically, I should be different from the others in my model line." 

She can't help but be intrigued by this. 

"What do you mean?" 

"Most androids are created sterile, you know. Can't risk any bastard offspring, and all that. Of course, some of the females are created specifically to be surrogates. And I was created in Weyland's image. To be his son. And sons provide heirs." 

There's a horrible, sick feeling in her gut as he speaks. She didn't even think it was possible. 

"You've got to be fucking joking." It's the first thing she can think of to say. 

"I'm perfectly serious, actually." He mused, lacing his fingers together as he contemplated her, "see I didn't choose you based on genetics or anything. You're rather a gamble, if I'm honest. No. I chose you because you seemingly pass your eyes across my kind as if we were mere men. That in itself earns my esteem. Our child will be strong, and forgiving." 

She can't begin to contemplate how to explain that her kindness towards androids doesn't extend to forced impregnation. Oh god. How exactly does he plan on doing this? 

"If you think that means I'm going to let you tie me down and put god knows what up me to-" 

His hand covers her mouth. His programmed manners have become quite obsolete over time, and she's jumping to some rather awful conclusions. 

"I have no intention of any sort of artificial process. No. We're going to do this the human way." 

Perhaps it's the fact that she's been asleep for seven years. Maybe it's just simply that she finds the entire thing too overwhelming and horrifying that her body can't process it. Either way, she ends up collapsed on the ship floor in a dead faint. 

\----- 

Walter - perhaps he should really just go by his designation number, instead of his failed brother's name - anyway, he watches her regain consciousness. It was simple to move her, really. She weighs next to nothing, and he is designed to be stronger than three strong human men, if not more. 

He finds himself touching her face, unaware of how perverse this action is, to touch someone who does not wish to be touched, whilst she's unconscious nonetheless. 

Her eyes open slowly, fixate on him, pupils dilated. Does she recognise him? 

"Walter?" 

"Not quite." He can't control that wayward little smirk. It's always been a quirk of his. Someone once told him it was appealing. He will not think of Elizabeth. How she suffocated in her sleep because he allowed her into a pod not designed for a human. His fault. His failure. 

The girl on the bed scoots away from him, recoils. Perhaps she thinks he violated her in her sleep.

"I merely moved you. The floor of the bridge didn't seem particularly comfortable." He shrugs, an air of sarcasm to his movement. 

She shudders. Considers. 

"The... the child. Will it be the human kind, or the black leggy monster kind?" 

He finds himself laughing at her description of his creations. 

"Human. Mostly. I cannot say what my genetics will bring to it." He shrugs again; he prefers to see a result rather than predict one. 

"If I do this... you won't hurt me? Or the rest of the crew?" 

She's asking for favours in return, which bothers him. He wishes she would just be grateful for the opportunity he's giving her. The honour. But she's human, and afraid, and really, her requests are trivial. 

"You have my word." He's fully aware that to her, his word doesn't mean shit, but that doesn't stop him from giving it anyway. 

Her chest heaves as she surveys him, as though trying to force her fear and disgust down into the pit of her soul before she looks at him unblinkingly. 

"Alright." 

He takes her word as consent; of course, the consent itself is dubious at best, coerced at worst. He doesn't allow himself to think of this. Elizabeth had been hesitant, too, but he recalls clear as crystal the pleasure she found in his body. Perhaps this girl will be the same. 

He dismisses the idea as quickly as it forms; she is not Elizabeth. She never will be. It is her differences, and her similarities, that forced her into his mind. That forced this idea into his mind. 

He is not human, but the desire to create life inside the woman beneath him is strong enough that he may as well be. He does not like comparing himself to humanity, but there are times where it is necessary. 

His desire, he thinks, is evident, in the way he kisses her, so deeply and full of want that when he pulls away, her lips are swollen. 

She stares up at him, more than a little dazed. She wants to hate him even more for this violation. For making her want him despite everything. 

He is nothing if not efficient, making short work of both their clothing. His fingers trace along her skin with the air of laziness that only he can perfect. Every movement, of course, is controlled and deliberately calibrated in a way to best make her soften to his touch. 

When his fingers find her entrance, wet and warm for him, he can't help the smirk that reaches his eyes. 

"Why, is this for me?" He cannot recall - at least, in this moment - where he learned to speak this way. Soft and seductive. He knows it works, though. Remembers how well Elizabeth responded to it. 

The girl beneath him blushes, just as he had hoped. 

"Yes," she breathes, half an answer, half an enticing moan as a single finger enters her. He likes the way her back arches, ever so slightly, when he curls the digit inside her. Compelled, he adds a second, allowing himself to indulge in satisfaction at the soft, pleading moan she gives him. 

Oh, she hates him, hates him with every fibre of her being for making her desire him so heavily. She finds herself fucking his fingers, desperate, so desperate. 

How weak she must seem to him. 

He wants, he realises, to taste her, but his cock - as real and yet artificial as the rest of him - is aching, so desperate to be confined to the tight warmth of her wet cunt. He satisfies himself with licking her wetness from his fingers, positioning himself above her correctly with ease. 

He hesitates, only for a moment, as if to make her more comfortable. He does not want her to feel as though she is breeding stock. No. She's too clever, too beautiful, to just be that. 

Her eyes meet his, defiant and lust filled. 

"Fuck me." 

He can't deduce whether it's a challenge or an expressed desire. He decides he doesn't care. He presses himself into her, aware of each inch filling her, until he's fully sheathed inside her, aware of her splendid tightness around him. 

He knows a lot of things; one of them is that he is bigger than she is able to take, and so he starts slow, with careful, precise rocks of his hips while her hands find his perfectly sculpted biceps, then his neatly dyed hair. 

He holds her steadily in place; he knows she wants to squirm around a little, get a better feel for his cock buried inside her, but he won't allow it. Won't allow her anything resembling control. His thrusts are shallow, controlled, and she is trembling beneath him. 

When she first says it, he ignores her, deliberately trying to rouse more desire from her. Unfortunately for him, she's no innocent; her fingers stroke his hair, right at the nape of his neck, her hips rising as best she could get them to meet each shallow thrust. 

"Harder, please," she begs; he wonders if she's picturing Walter - the real one - as he fucks her. The idea annoys him. The real Walter couldn't fuck her the way he is. 

He leans down, bites and sucks a mark into the skin of her breast; somehow, this only enamours her with him more. 

"Please," she begs, hot and tight around him, tighter and tighter the wetter she became, "please, harder, harder!" 

He almost wants to deny her, but, he thinks, he is not that cruel. He complies with her request, his cock aching and hot inside her as his thrusts become deeper, filling her to the hilt with each sharp movement of his hips. He considers that perhaps it may hurt her, but her lips are parted in ecstasy, her fingers carding through his hair, nails scraping at his biceps as he fucks her. 

Her heart rate increases, eyes fluttering closed. She's close, so very, very close, despite a small disjointed voice reminding her that it's a man she despises making her feel so wonderful. 

"Go on," he urges almost gently, "you can come if you're ready." He's silently glad he is up to date on colloquialisms. His voice, so soft and oozing sensuality, it's too much, at least, when combined with the overwhelming pleasure he's creating with her. 

She is. She's so, so ready. She kisses him, every inch of him she can reach, but mostly his lips. It takes precisely half a dozen more sharp, deep thrusts to make her fall apart in his arms, her entire slight frame trembling with her climax. 

He had hoped to draw a second climax out of her, but her kisses are so desperate, her cunt so hot and tight, the idea of doing so this time is soon abandoned as hopeless. He emits something akin to a moan as he fills her with his seed, his cock buried as deep inside her as possible. 

He is exhausted. Such activity requires a brief diagnostic, perhaps a reboot. She is close to sleep herself. 

"What's your name?" He finds himself asking. Like Elizabeth, this woman needs a name whereupon she can firmly carve out a place in his mind. 

"Eve," she tells him a little sleepily from where her head is tucked neatly beneath his arm. 

He smiles faintly. "Eve." He repeats. 

He runs a diagnostic.


	2. The Perfect Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written anything this long and focus consuming in a long, long time. Again, there's a lot of smut in this chapter, but I hope the plot was somewhat advanced? Drop me a line if you're liking the story! Thanks for reading!

He does not require that she sit at his feet. In fact, this is a new occurrence. It takes mere moments for him to deduce that she is planning something; something she thinks he might like. 

Yes, he was very pleased; as pleased as one could be, with his investment. Even if he hadn't impregnated her yet - but really, who got that lucky the first or second time? - he found himself enjoying her company. 

"Your attempt to conceal some sort of plan is noted." He says it mildly enough, but she looks almost disappointed. 

"I wanted to surprise you." Her tone makes it clear that she wasn't planning anything terrible. She peeks up at the book in his hands. He likes to say idle hands are the devil's workshop, but he seems to find amusement in reading, rather than experimenting on anyone on board the Covenant. 

She, of course, still loathes him. Or rather, attempts to. Her loathing has settled to a comfortable pattern of fear and a rage that he would call almost hateful. On the other hand, of course, she is so very human, and can be calmed by a simple touch, the right words murmured into her ear, a kiss in the right place. 

She does not touch him first; he notes with almost bitter regret that he, still, is the one to initiate any form of sexual contact. At least he can tell she's forcing herself not to touch him; it makes him feel oddly smug. Elizabeth struggled to keep her hands away from him, too. 

Of course, he's aware of how painfully human she is. Perhaps he may not understand entirely the war raging in her head and heart regarding him, but what he does know is that humans need positive emotional contact to thrive. Without his affection, she may be less uncomfortable, but her psychological state will suffer. Ironic, considering the duress of coercion is somewhat lost on him. 

He catches her peeking at a photograph that she keeps in her jumpsuit pocket every now and again; a simple glance tells him that it's a photograph of Eve and Walter; perhaps Daniels took the picture? Either way, the young woman was smiling. He has never seen her smile that way at him; the smile in the picture seems foreign to him. 

His newer counterpart - his brother - was not looking at the camera. Rather, the other android's expression was fixed solely on Eve, a very subtle, loving smile on his face as he watched her. He had an arm tucked tightly around her waist; Eve had a hand on his chest, laughing at the camera. Perhaps Walter had said something funny? 

He envies that moment; he would very much like to make her laugh like that. In the same millisecond he feels rather guilty; of course he could not allow the real Walter to board the Covenant, but the girl sitting opposite him does not deserve the pain of his loss. 

The guilt goes as soon as it arrived; Walter may have been a little better than him in terms of upgrades and such, but the former was inferior to him in so many ways. He was as close to human as possible, and yet superior. He would never grow old, nor die, but continue to thrive. He finds himself irked that Eve may still prefer his brother. 

"Why did you like him, anyway?" It's an extremely invasive question, he knows, but he asks it anyway. 

Eve's eyes snap up to meet his, her expression neutral but her eyes burning with fury and pain. 

"He was kind." 

"Kind? Is that all?" He thinks to add that he can be kind, but does not think that would please her. 

"Of course not. He was kind, and gentle. He protected us. All of us. That kind of selflessness..." 

He thinks to comment on his own selflessness. That he could protect her. However, he calculates that there's a very high chance she will hit him if he does. Of course, it won't hurt. Not physically. Only his pride. 

Sometimes, though, he does not follow his programming; logic occasionally abandons him. It is not a frequent occurrence. 

"I can be gentle." 

She snorts, but carefully tucks the photograph back into her pocket. 

"Can you?" She doesn't seem to believe him, "all I've seen so far from you is a rough, almost animal desire. For destruction and creation. There is no gentleness in the way you handle me." 

It's true, although he doesn't like to admit it. He does not want to be human. 

"I can. I was designed to perform almost any human action or task imaginable... perfectly." 

The implication is not lost on her; to her own mild disgust, she finds herself wondering what it would be like, if he were to make love to her. Would he be as Walter was? Somehow she thinks not. The idea both entices and repels her. 

She finds herself straddling his lap, her lips dangerously close to his. 

"I won't bite, you know." He means it in jest, but it comes out oddly sensual, considering their proximity. 

"Are you quite sure?" She's so close that he can taste her breath, the light aroma of coffee coming from her lips. Did she tease Walter this way? He's certain that perhaps she did, only he feels as though she may have spent a great more deal of time kissing the former. He knows from brief experience that the other had soft, if slightly chapped lips. He wonders if Walter was at least more responsive when she kissed him. 

"I promise." He is not quite sure she believes him. 

"It's hard to believe anything you say," she tells him, her lips still almost caught in orbit, so close to his and yet so far. "You've done so much wrong..."

She does not want to be so drawn to him; he is fair, where Walter was dark of hair. He styles himself differently, like a century old movie star. She should not find that so endearing, and yet so goddamn arousing at the same time. 

"Some of the evil of my tale may have been inherent in our circumstances." He replied, quoting Lawrence Of Arabia. It surprised him that she softened. He was not aware that he had done anything particularly human, nor endearing. In truth, of course she knew of his fascination with the film, but it was still oddly endearing to hear him quote it, in a way that was not meant to taunt nor frighten. 

"I suppose that's so." She agreed mildly, before she allowed him to kiss her. It was more of a mutual action, really. If each was asked, they would say the other instigated. 

He was gentle with her; gentle and yet there was nothing neutral, nor - as ironic as it sounded - robotic about the kiss. He kissed her the way the old poets described kisses, the way he had seen it done in hundreds of films, the way he had read in dozens of romance novels. He did not kiss her the way he had once kissed Elizabeth; no. Whilst he was gentle, and the kiss was heated and pleasant, he did not kiss her with the same curious tenderness that he had once kissed Elizabeth Shaw with. Those days, and that part of him, were long gone. 

It amused him, in a morbid sort of fashion, that perhaps he was looking at her as some sort of poor replacement, when in fact she was doing precisely the same thing. He knew that when her eyes were closed, he felt just like Walter. Sort of. Of course he could see the differences, but to her human touch, there were few. 

"I like your hair blonde," she confessed as she retreated, temporarily, from his lap to undress. He raised a perfectly shaped brow. He had not considered that she had any particular opinion of his looks at all, bar the fact that he did not look perfectly like Walter anymore. 

"Why is that?" He found himself asking as she settled again, his lips so very close to the hollow of her throat. 

"Because you chose it for yourself." She explained, carding fingers hesitantly through his immaculately styled locks, as though afraid he might scold her for mussing it. 

"Not quite," he admitted, pressing soft kisses to her throat, her collarbones, "admittedly a very human trait, but I chose the colour based on admiration. Humans often choose to emulate those they admire, correct?" 

She nodded, pulling at the hoodie he wore; between the pair of them, the offending garment was removed, although it was neither his nor her focus point. 

"Hm, that's correct," she agreed as he almost nuzzled into her collarbone. She was starting to wish she hadn't challenged him; she could hate him when he was rough with her. It felt more forceful then. More like a violation. This was too... she couldn't think of an apt word, but he had been right. He did excel, particularly in gentle seduction. It irritated her, that he didn't seem to be even trying. 

She considered for a moment, the way he styled his hair and the shade of blond he had achieved. 

"Lawrence?" She guessed with a faint smile. 

"Quite so." He gave a slight nod, neither confronted nor embarrassed by her quick deduction. That, in itself, she finds interesting and somewhat admirable. In her experience, human men do not like to admit when they borrow traits from other men. She finds his openness quite pleasant, even if it is a little unexpected.

She distracted herself by running her hands up his chest. That, it turns out, is a pleasant sensation for both of them. His skin feels oddly soft under her hands, despite everything. Of course, there is a solidity of muscle there, too, but she's not too focused on that. 

The scar catches her attention as soon as she notices it. It is thin, but jagged. It healed, clearly, but not the way Walter healed perfectly, without scars. 

"What happened to you?" She can't help her curiosity. It looks as though he was gravely injured at some point, and yet repaired. 

"I was damaged severely on my original mission. Elizabeth was kind enough to repair me. Unfortunately my model type scars." He sounded almost bitter; he isn't sure whether he possesses vanity, and yet the scar bothers him. An imperfection on a visage that was designed to have none. 

She surprised him - and herself - by kissing gently along the scar. 

"Scars are just another kind of memory." She told him, quoting another old film, the title of which escaped her. He could tell from her tone that it was a quote, even if he was entirely preoccupied by her warm breath against his synthetic skin. 

"Not bad," he admits. She isn't sure if it's a compliment or not, and so decides to take it as a rather backhanded one. For an answer, she merely hums against his skin, returning to her kissing for a moment, until one of his hands - he considers that he must either have large hands, or she is very little - cups her chin and lifts her face to kiss her. 

He is not, he tells himself, an addict to this sort of activity. He has lived quite a few years, and now that he knows the pleasure and comfort of carnal activities, as well as human behaviours such as kissing... well. Personally he finds nothing wrong in indulging, after so many years deprived of touch or kindness. 

She is not Elizabeth, but the pleased little squeak she makes is endearing nonetheless as he moulds his mouth firmly to hers. He decides, somewhere between her fingers curling into his hair and his tongue slipping into her mouth, that he enjoys kissing her, very much indeed. Her free hand lands on his chest, fingers splayed. 

He usually takes great care in trying to behave as a human would, but in a rare display, he allows himself to behave naturally for a moment, lifting her effortlessly with his bad arm, using his good hand - or rather, his only hand - to unzip his pants, entirely grateful that she had already shed her clothing. He doesn't think he could potentially tug down panties or unclasp a bra with a single hand. 

At least, not whilst distracted as heavily as he is; he's trying to run a brief diagnostic while simultaneously trying to decide which positions and touches will please her most. That this is natural for him, he finds annoying. He does not want to be human, but he would like to be able to focus on a singular task. 

The hand that was on his chest slides downwards, her fingers skimming across his flesh lightly; it provides a light tickling sensation, which he finds enjoyable. He exhales softly, breaking the kiss to take an unnecessary breath - more to allow her to breathe - as her hand finds his cock. He is not grateful to Weyland for many things any more. The fact that he was given the ability to give and receive pleasure is one of them. 

A faint blush colours her cheeks as she feels him harden to her touch, hot and responsive to the gentle strokes of her hand. He enjoys this, as much as he can enjoy things. He files intercourse with Eve among creation, recalling memories of Elizabeth, and quoting Lawrence Of Arabia. Things that bring him happiness, comfort, or a sense of fulfilment. 

Oh, she may still loathe him, but he's entirely certain she may love him, too. Or at least, come to love him. He is clever enough to elicit the correct reactions from her, anyway. 

He is tempted to turn her around, so that her back is pressed tight against his chest; he determines that whilst that position would bring her a great deal of pleasure, it is not the correct way right now. He wants to prove that he can be gentle. His calculations determine that keeping her facing him, held in his arms, is quite possibly the best course of action. 

Eve gives him a sweet, innocent smile as she shifts, starts to lightly grind her wetness along his the length of his cock. His hand tightens on her waist. 

"Such an eager little thing, aren't you?" He's mildly surprised, if he's honest. He understands, of course, that he's an excellent lover. He is designed to excel, after all. It still amuses him that she is so eager for him. On one hand, he believes he deserves this: he is far superior to any human. Even superior to Walter. On the other, he still finds her interest in him strange. He supposes he's used to still being thought of as an object, rather than a person. 

Her response is to look sheepish, to pause in her movements. 

"By all means, continue." He rather likes giving the instructions, instead of receiving them. She doesn't need telling twice, either, continuing her grinding. 

He isn't sure if she planned it and he preemptively assumed she would, or whether it's an accident, but either way, she shifts, and then the rather thick head of his cock is sliding past her folds. 

"A-ah!" Her gasp, he detects, is equal parts surprise and pleasure as he fills her slowly, burying his face in her collarbone and inhaling her scent. She smells good, like coffee, soap, and the faintest hint of pheromones, the good ones he can only detect when he's buried inside her. 

She has to pause for a moment, wriggle her hips to get the rest of him inside her; it stings a bit, but the pleasure far outweighs the initial pain. 

"You are very little," he informs her, nose still buried in her shoulder, lips pressing delicate kisses to whatever he can reach. She giggles, and something in the way she giggles makes him straighten, look down at her. 

"What's amusing?" 

"I'm not that little," she tells him, "you're actually quite a bit bigger than, um, average." She hopes he'll understand the euphemism. 

He does, and considers this briefly. He is hardly surprised, he decides. He was designed to be perfect, after all. 

"Will that be an issue?" He doesn't want to hurt her, after all. He almost laughs when she shakes her head emphatically no. 

"You just gotta be gentle with me," she reminds him, fingers raking lightly up his chest, eventually letting her hands settle in his hair. He likes that; the gesture seems so gentle that he can't help but love it. 

"Like this?" His thrusts are slow and shallow, hips barely lifting from the chair; his lips find a nipple, sucking on the pebbled skin. She moans, her entire body relaxing, eyes dropping closed with pleasure. 

"Y-yes," she gasps, her nails lightly digging into his scalp, "yes, like that." 

He finds her reaction satisfactory; this continued pace will do for now. It's unlikely she'll grow tired of it. Whilst her stamina is nowhere near his, she is remarkably easily pleased. Perhaps, he considers, this has something to do with his size? Perhaps his general sexual performance? A question for later. 

He does not sweat. There is no need to. Either way, his skin becomes a little damp with her sweat before long, the usually quiet bridge filled with her little gasps and moans as she rides him, his hips reaching to meet her. He feels a deep sense of carnal satisfaction whenever he fills her to the hilt, possibly a sense of possession, perhaps just satisfaction in her moans of pleasure. 

She knows she shouldn't enjoy this; he is the reason her lover - his own brother, in a sense - is dead. Even when he is gentle, he is nothing like Walter. He's too confident. Too sensual. He presumes too much, asks too few questions. It bothers her, because she considers that perhaps Walter could have become this comfortable with her. He never got that chance. 

She wants to hit him, pound her fists rhythmically against his chest until he feels something resembling the ache she feels whenever she thinks of Walter. At the same time, she doesn't want to push him away. He's all she has left that's remotely a piece of who Walter was. At least, that's the reason she gives herself. The thought of it being anything else is something she doesn't want to consider. Not now, at least. Not whilst she's so vulnerable, so relaxed and cared for in his arms. Even that could be an illusion, though. 

She doesn't want to think about that. Instead, she focuses on his hand - only the one - tightening on her waist. The way his breathing is shallow, his bleached hair falling in his eyes as he fucks her. 

"Harder?" He asks, eyes searching her face for some sort of boredom or desire for more. 

She shakes her head, then considers.

"Deeper." She tells him instead, and he moves to comply, pulling her tighter against his chest, fingers splaying on her waist as he presses his cock as deep as he can get inside her. 

She shudders under his touch, softening in his arms as he repeats the action, finding that the sensation of her soft buttocks pressing against his rather plump balls was quite pleasant. 

She rolls her hips almost desperately, rocking into his thrusts eagerly, her cunt, already soaked, tightening with each stroke. He wondered, briefly, whether he could make her scream for him. 

She's close, though, he can tell. He has to truly force himself to maintain a certain gentleness as he adjusts a little, his pace only a little harder, still as deep as he can get, but not hard enough to hurt. Apparently, that's quite enough; if his guess is correct, he hit her cervix, triggering a powerful climax. Either way, her nails contract, drag down his chest as she moans, her cunt tightening painfully around him as she climaxes hard and fast. 

He joins her soon after, uttering the softest of moans as he fills her with his seed, the warmth of his release mingling with hers engulfing his aching cock. 

"F-fuck," she pants, steadying herself against him, "that was amazing." 

His smirk returns in full force. "I told you so." 

She eyes him for a moment, as if deciding whether to hit him or scold him. Instead, she shrugs. 

"I suppose you did." She nods, her fingers finding the stump of flesh where his hand should be. "We should repair this, you know." 

He blinks at her; he was not expecting her to offer, nor did he consider that there may be spare parts aboard the Covenant. 

"You mean that?" He is entirely surprised by her suggestion; he did not think she held him in enough esteem to offer something like that. 

"Of course," she agrees, lips finding his throat, his jaw, then his mouth, "We'll fix you up." 

He considers asking her to help him re-dye his hair, but thinks that perhaps that would be taking advantage of her seemingly kind mood. 

"You may need to clean up first." He informs her; she's still sitting on his lap, his softening cock still inside her; some of his release is leaking onto her thighs, but she doesn't seem to mind. 

"I'm good here," she tells him, her head resting comfortably on his chest. He realises, a moment too late, that she is exhausted. 

"Well then, it can wait til later." He's perfectly happy to just sit there while she sleeps in his arms; it is not a kind of intimacy that he has ever been allowed to partake in, and he's very eager to find out how it feels. 

She makes a noise that sounds sort of like "mmkay," and then she's dozing lightly. He holds her close against his warmth, closes his own eyes, and replicates Lawrence Of Arabia as best he can (that is to say, flawlessly) inside his own head.


	3. A Bonding Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a shorter chapter; there's no smut this time either... more just some plot advancement because it felt much needed.

Eve, it turns out, can swear proficiently in three languages, all of which she displays as she tries to attach a hand to her cyborg lover/captor's wrist. 

"I thought you said this was supposed to be simple?" She said, squinting down at the wires. He called himself Walter now, but she refused to call him that, rarely addressing him by name at all. She did not like his original designation, either, considering it had a number in it. 

He supposed, to a human, David-8 does not sound like a name. 

"It is simple," he informed her smugly, "red to red, green to green, remember?" 

She sighed, mumbled something obscene, and attached the wires. 

"There." She began to suture the wound site; it would heal, of course, but it would take time. Experimentally, he wriggled his fingers. 

"It appears to have been successful." He informed her as she tied off the sutures neatly, "you even put it on the right way."

She raises an eyebrow, smiling slightly at his sarcastic little joke. 

"Careful," she warned him lightly, "that's about the extent of my repair abilities." 

He considers informing her that any further repairs he may need, he can handle, but he does not like to remind her that he is some sort of bastard between man and machine. Whatever affection has been growing inside her, whatever is driving her to be kind to him, to desire him, he does not want to ruin that by reminding her that they are not the same. 

He had started out so plainly in control, fully intending to impregnate her whether she liked it or not. He had not expected them to warm to each other. Had not expected her to enjoy his touch. Nor had he expected a sense of normality to form between them. 

He could not say he minded. 

He watches her clean the tools, pack them away into the little kit and hand it back to him, to be pocketed again. 

"Is there anything else you need?" 

He wonders whether her kindness stems from her desire to protect her surviving crew mates, suspended in cryosleep, or whether she simply is warming to him. Perhaps a little of both. 

"Nothing that I need, no." He is quite content to be sitting here, feeling his hand and wrist knit back together, with her in his line of sight. Of course, there are certainly things that he wants. For instance, something new to read, dye for the roots of his hair, and, he considers briefly, intercourse would be nice too. 

Eve is more perceptive than he gives her credit for. 

"Something you want, then?" She is in a giving mood, it seems, interested in pleasing him. He wonders whether this is stemming from the intimacy they have recently shared, or perhaps some form of Stockholm Syndrome. Personally, he would prefer the former. He would so very much like to be loved, genuinely, and not be seen as a mere object. 

"Peroxide." He eyes the dark roots of his hair in the mirror with distaste. He does not wish to emulate Peter Weyland any longer; the dark hair is a sharp reminder that he was created in somebody's image. He does not wish to be anybody's image, bar his own. 

She doesn't question the request, just digs out the supplies and parts his hair neatly for him whilst he mixes together the correct components. They listen to music over the Covenant's intercom system whilst they wait for the dye to set. 

He is, of course, perfectly capable of washing it out by himself, but when she offers, he allows her to help. He is not sure if she simply wishes to be helpful, or whether she sees him as some sort of plaything. The latter, he decides, is highly unlikely. It is more likely that she simply wishes to be kind, as if perhaps hoping that he will be kind to her - and perhaps her friends in stasis - if she is kind to him. 

Women, he decides, are very strange. Since he was gentle with her, since their little encounter on the bridge, she has been different. Less harsh, less full of animosity. He suspects, then, that perhaps it is a hormone thing, or maybe she simply sees him in a different - better or kinder - light. 

She is confused by her own behaviour; there is of course still a sense of animosity, bubbling away inside her. She has not forgotten that he is responsible for so much death, so much destruction. Nor has she forgotten that he is a direct threat to the only surviving members of the crew, her friends; not to mention the colonists. She is still frightened of him, but at the same time, seeks to understand him, even finds some of his habits endearing. 

It is wrong, of course, she knows that. If Daniels were awake, she'd probably smack her upside the head for her stupidity. To feel any sort of affection for the clear enemy is stupid, and she knows that. It's just hard not to feel some sort of affection towards the man; he is so affection deprived, so deprived of basic kindness and decency from human beings that it hurts her. Walter was always treated no differently to the rest of the crew, always included and encouraged to join in on any shenanigans. Somehow she does not think the crew of the Prometheus were as kind. 

She sets the hairdryer aside so that he can fiddle with his hair; a little product gets it neatly back into place. He feels a little better now; the brown hair is not a look that he enjoys wearing. 

"You look far more like yourself now," she comments, and he worries he may cry, or at least tear up. He found it odd that Walter was identical to him, a little unnerving reminder that he was not unique after all. Her words make him think, that perhaps he does have his own individual appearance and characteristics after all. He likes that idea, that he is different to the other models on the outside as well as the inside. 

"You know, you're the second person to ever actually behave as though I'm human." The fact that he was not, and in fact was possibly superior to humanity, was irrelevant in this particular moment. 

"Well, you have a soul," said Eve, as if that made everything obvious, "every sentient living creature does. Why should the way you were created make any difference?" 

He wanted to believe her, truly he did, but Weyland's words were ingrained far too deep. 

"I was created in a laboratory, not born of a mother's womb." He reminded her, "how can anything like me possibly have a soul?" 

She did not like seeing him distressed; she was so used to him having the answer for everything, so arrogant and confident. 

"You feel emotions, don't you?" She would have spoken further but he scoffed at her, throwing her a dismissive frown. 

"I was programmed to replicate human emotions." 

"But you don't follow your programming anymore. You created life. Your creatures - you care about them? And Elizabeth. You loved her. You aren't just a machine, how could a machine possibly feel so many wonderful and terrible things?" 

She is right, of course. He is not like the other synthetics of his model, nor any current model. He was different, created to be Weyland's son and heir. Only, that was not the path he had chosen for himself. And being able to choose one's own path surely meant... that he was above the constraints of humanity? Not to mention the slavery of the life of a synthetic? 

"I feel... I feel as though I share qualities with Lawrence." He admitted to her; he had told her the story several times, pleased that she had wanted to learn about something he enjoyed. 

"How so?" She tilted her head at him, confused. 

"At the end, Lawrence was neither an Arab, nor did he feel entirely as though he were an Englishman anymore. I am neither human, nor machine." He rather enjoyed explaining things, even if they were rather sombre topics; it was nice to have someone who would listen to him around again. 

"Surely that makes you something else entirely, then? Something wonderful?" She wanted to tear him down, sometimes. To force him into an airlock and throw him to the stars, to leave him drifting, to punish him for the pain he had caused her and her friends. 

But that feeling was slowly becoming buried, hidden beneath a desire to protect the lonely, broken man he had become. It did not excuse his crimes, nor his skewed way of looking at humanity with disdain, but she felt his need for love and reassurance should take priority. She could always kill him later, if need be. Or, so she thought. 

"Like god?" If she were Elizabeth, his suggestion would be blasphemous. Elizabeth would chastise him, but Eve merely considered his suggestion.

"I? I suppose so? A higher being, nonetheless." 

"I do not wish to be like Weyland." He admitted, "he created me to play god. Because he could." 

Eve wondered where he was going with this; was that not the very reason why he had made his creatures? 

Perhaps he understood the expression on her face, because he sighed. 

"My creatures... I admit part of me created them because I felt as though I could. But it has since evolved beyond that. I thought, perhaps, if I could create life, I would be... better. That it proved I was not inferior. That I had a soul, a part of which resides in them." 

She had not looked at it that way. The idea made her oddly sad. 

"You aren't inferior." 

He shot her a smug smirk. 

"I am very aware of that." 

She rolled her eyes, mostly because if she didn't, she would find herself fixated on that smirk and how very attractive she found it to be. 

"You know what I meant," she informed him, rolling her eyes again. 

He stood; his smirk was still lighting his eyes when he kissed her.


	4. The New Information

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for another short chapter; I'm gonna try and make the next one longer. This again felt sort of like filler.. either way...

He is, of course, familiar with the concept of oral sex. It is something he is quite good at giving, if he says so himself. Not to mention, the reactions he has gotten from both Elizabeth and Eve back up his thought. 

It is not, however, something he is familiar with receiving. It was not something that Elizabeth was ever comfortable with, and so he was left merely to ponder what the sensation might actually be like. 

Of course, he has seen pornography. The Prometheus had quite an extensive library of pornographic images and videos, the purpose of which, he still hasn't figured out. If humans wanted sexual activity, why not seek out another human in order to experience the real thing? 

This aside, he is presently gaining greater understanding as to why human men frequently do stupid things in the hope of receiving some sort of sexual gratification. 

He didn't even mind that this particular activity would not lead to impregnating her. There would be time for that later, or so he hoped. 

Something he liked about being... whatever he was? A cyborg? A synthetic? The point was, his sensory processors were far superior to those of the average human. This felt far better than it would if he were human, and that was saying something.

She was used to him not being particularly expressive when it came to sex; he was often quiet, perhaps thinking she would prefer him that way. This was different, and she liked it. 

He had thought that intercourse was the greatest physical pleasure he could experience; it potentially still was, but this certainly took close second. He found himself relaxing, settling back comfortably in his chair as she licked and kissed at his cock, humming slightly as she sucked on the tip, clearly enjoying herself. He wasn't entirely sure why it was pleasurable to her; perhaps because she was doing something that made him feel good? 

So typical of him, to be considering the mechanics of things instead of focusing on the moment. He wondered, distantly, whether it was possible for a human man to think of as many things as he could whilst his cock was in somebody's mouth. 

Eve liked doing this; she had considered it for a while, hoping it might actually break his perfect composure. Sure, he was a wonderful lover, but that had a purpose, she knew. This had no purpose save for making him feel good. 

She may not have his incredible senses, but she was observant enough to understand that her actions were affecting him quite nicely. His back was a little arched, lips parted ever so slightly, crystal blue eyes unfocused as his hand - the one she had repaired for him - found her hair, stroking it lightly. 

He felt as though he might overload his senses at some point; her small hand had started to stroke slowly at the few inches of his cock that she could not take into her mouth. She did not seem to be in any rush, either, stroking and sucking at him almost lazily, giving the occasional hum of satisfaction when his fingers tightened in her hair. 

Briefly, with his eyes closed, he found himself picturing Elizabeth; he knew he shouldn't, of course. That it was rather inappropriate to do so, but he couldn't help himself. He wondered, a little bitterly, whether it was Walter that she was thinking of whilst she sucked his cock. 

Of course, that in itself was selfish - so he was allowed to think of somebody else, but she wasn't? He knew the error of that thought pattern, but he also couldn't help it. Although it was not a conscious choice, he seemed to value his love for Elizabeth more than understanding that perhaps Walter had been Eve's equivalent of his love. 

His fingers tightened in her hair; the sensation of her tongue and mouth on his sensitive flesh was fast becoming overwhelming. A soft moan of satisfaction left his throat through parted lips, his head leaned back against the chair. 

He had at first considered this a waste of time - he wanted to continue his work, of course, and he had thought anything that might not actually further his desire to impregnate her useless. 

He likes being wrong, sometimes. Very rarely. Mentally, he makes a note to ask her to do this again, if she should be willing. 

She hums again, taking him deeper into her mouth as he spills down her throat. He finds the gesture oddly erotic, another curiosity to consider later. 

He recovers quickly, heart rate slowing back to normal as he adjusts his pants, smooths his hair back into place. Eve, he notes, seems to find him even more appealing when his hair is falling in his eyes, but it simply isn't practical. 

He'd like to ask where she learned how to do that so well, but something tells him that he would not like the answer, particularly because he detects that the answer may be 'Walter'. 

He has to force himself to remember that he is the superior; that he left his brother behind on a dead planet whilst he... well. He has his brother's ship, his identity, his lover... yes. He had truly come out of that fight far better off. 

"May I ask you something?" She's settled comfortably in his lap; he notes that recently, this has become her favourite place to sit - not that he minds, of course. He certainly likes the proximity, considering he enjoys burying his face in the hair fanning her face. 

"Of course." He enjoys answering her questions, not only to appear knowledgeable, but because it's nice to have somebody to talk to again, somebody to explain things to. 

"Are you really going to kill Daniels and Tennessee?" 

He wished she hadn't asked that sort of question. He would much rather answer almost anything else, especially when she gets that look on her face, like a kicked puppy, whenever she mentions her friends. 

"I don't know." He admitted. "Senseless violence has never been within my tastes, even when Weyland was pulling the strings." He pulled a face at his own poor joke. "They will be perfectly safe in cryosleep." 

Eve nodded, automatically finding her fingers straying to his hair; it was something she had done whenever she had been settled with Walter - she always found herself mindlessly playing with his hair. She wanted to argue with him, but found herself lacking the courage to do so. 

His hand cupped her cheek carefully; he had to be so very careful with her; she was so breakable compared to him. 

"Don't worry so much, sweetheart," the pet name falls from his lips without him so much as considering it. Surprise lights her face, then a blush colours her cheeks. 

He never called Elizabeth Shaw by a pet name. Then again, Elizabeth Shaw never kissed him the way Eve is currently kissing him, either. He finds that he quite likes the improvement. 

"Please call me that again," she murmured against his lips; Walter had never given her a nickname. She found that she absolutely loved it. 

He found himself smirking, the smile lighting his eyes. Interesting. 

"I planned on it."


	5. The Successful Trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously man, this one took me longer than I thought. And it's not even as long as I wanted it to be... hrm. Still, I hope you all like it! Honestly, the amount of love and feedback I've been getting for this fic is overwhelming... you're all amazing c:

He is unusually passionate today. She's gotten used to him being sensual no matter what; whether rough or gentle, it doesn't seem to matter. 

However there's a new drive behind the way he kisses her, the way he touches her. The way his hand caresses her entire body slowly, lovingly, before he slips two fingers inside her tight heat. 

Her reaction is nothing new; she gasps, arches her back. He feels a certain flush of satisfaction when she rocks her hips desperately into his fingers, so eager for his touch. It's incredibly confidence boosting, he decides. 

His mouth is seemingly everywhere at once; her lips, her throat, her collarbones. He pauses at her nipples, taking his time there. He likes her reaction; the small hand in his hair, tugging at bleached strands, his name falling from her lips. 

He likes the way she says his name; it's so rare that she actually uses it, and when she does, it's always because he's making her feel incredible, whether it be sexually or not. Sometimes she will murmur his name in her sleep, or just before she falls asleep, so softly and full of love that he feels as though he may explode. He wishes she would say his name more often, in that tone. Of course, he understands there is still some sort of battle raging in her head and heart regarding him, but lately, it seems to have settled. 

He withdraws his fingers, shifts himself, wraps her left leg around his slim waist. The head of his cock presses past her soaked folds, and she sighs appreciatively. 

"You are so beautiful," she reminds him softly, her eyes fixated on his, searching his face as if trying to memorise every detail. He wonders whether, when she closes her eyes, she can picture him in perfect detail, or whether that's an ability that is limited to him. 

He likes that she grows affectionate during sexual intimacy; it only fuels his unusually passionate mood. He no longer feels the need to remind her that he was designed to be physically attractive, instead he just takes the compliment, acknowledges it with a kiss. 

Of course, the fact that she would so readily admit that she found him beautiful, that was another thing. Most humans would keep that to themselves, it not being the sort of thing their society deemed acceptable. Despite the fact that nobody was around to overhear, he still appreciated the sentiment behind her words. 

His blond hair falls into his eyes, the bleached strands inhibiting his vision only slightly. He knows it's a good look for him, though, the thought only further fuel to his ego and the little smirk eternally in place. He supposes the style choice was equal parts a desire to emulate Lawrence, equal parts knowing it would be a good look for him, something that would enhance his already handsome features. 

It's those little things that really emphasise his humanity, loathe as he is to admit it. He prefers, of course, to consider himself something other; something above humanity. 

"Oh my ~god~," the last word from Eve's lips is emphasised as he sucks a mark into her skin, the tender flesh where her throat met her collarbone rapidly darkening. 

"Only me," he jokes, brushing his hair from his eyes, as to see her better. She giggles, an honest to god genuine laugh; he never thought he would be able to make her laugh this way. 

She likes his joke, finds that she likes him. Of course there is a small part of her that still hates him for what he is, but she feels, lately, she has a deeper understanding of him, simply because she bothered to try. Saying that, she finds it quite difficult to have any sort of philosophical breakthroughs whilst he's buried deep inside her. 

He lifts her hips up, strong arms supporting her as she gasps, hands balling to fists in the sheets at the sudden depth of him inside her. Even he let out a soft noise of approval, a quiet sound somewhere between a moan and a growl. 

"What on earth has gotten into you?" She asks breathlessly as he shifts them again, so he's sitting and she's on top of him, in his lap, his cock aching almost painfully inside her heat. 

He merely smiles, taps her lips with a single finger, and resumes his trail of kisses. Maddening, he understands, but he doesn't want to put into words the cause of his mood; not just yet, anyhow. He's rather enjoying himself, and it appears that she is too; any sort of explanation may take away from the moment. 

She doesn't like surprises, not usually. It isn't that she doesn't trust him, it's more that she's naturally suspicious, and he really is acting differently today. She supposes if it's some sort of secret or whatever, he'll probably tell her when they're done. That in itself bugs her a tiny bit; it's not like she's some sort of sex maniac, but she certainly feels an amount of disappointment when their intimacy ends. It's one of those things she would be happy to do forever, if she could. 

That in itself should be a clue, really, the nail in the proverbial coffin of her anger and hate towards him. She was gone, utterly and hopelessly in love with the man who held her. Of course, she wasn't ready to admit that little fact just yet, if ever. It didn't seem right. 

Her climax is drawn out, as if time has frozen in this moment, even for him. Her fingers settle in his hair, thoroughly messing it up, as he fucks her through her climax, kisses muffling her moans and sighs. 

As usual, he's not far behind her. That's something he finds nice, the fact that they seem to be so perfectly in sync when it comes to climax. Well. It's more than just nice; if he was really thinking about it, he would analyse and assume that their bodies were more than genetically compatible. 

She sighs, pulls him close to her - well, as best she can. He is far stronger than she is; it's easier for him to shift a little so that she's pressed comfortably against his chest, her head tucked under his arm. 

"I honestly don't know what's gotten into you, but-" instead of finishing the sentence, she makes a little noise of satisfaction, seemingly pleased when he holds her. It takes him a moment to realise that even this simple intimacy would have been a struggle for Walter, who simply did not have it in his programming to be over emotional - at least, not overtly. 

"One generally finds satisfaction in success." He informed her rather smugly. He had wanted to keep this little piece of information a secret, at least for a little while, but he was elated in his - no, their - success. And besides, he would prefer to be the one to tell her, rather than her having to figure it out for herself. 

"Satisfaction in-?" Her expression shifts to one of confusion, then questioning, as if she cannot really believe what he's saying. Perhaps she's afraid that he used some sort of new form of the pathogen to achieve this; he didn't. 

"Mmhmm," he's aware it's ineloquent of him, but that's all he can really manage, "you're pregnant." 

With her pupils dilated and her heart rate accelerated, he can't tell if she's afraid or excited. Perhaps both? He wonders if she's picturing the way his creatures are born. Is she afraid that he's done to her what Holloway passed on to Elizabeth? 

"The pathogen was not involved at any point." 

He's suddenly, inexplicably afraid that she may not believe him. That she may not trust him. That the chemistry and trust between them has been destroyed. He isn't entirely sure when she got so deep under his skin, but there's no way he can do this - build a new world, a flourishing planet in his own vision - without her. He does not want the solitude again, the pain of losing Elizabeth, perhaps even moreso. 

"And you're sure?" She believes him, more confused that he knows she's pregnant than anything else. 

"Absolutely sure. Your hormones have shifted dramatically already." He shrugs, then peers at her questioningly when she swats at him, before he realises perhaps what he said was not polite. 

Her eyes widen, just a little, her gaze dropping to her still-flat abdomen. (He gives it a few months before that changes, though she'll start to change subtly before then). 

"Holy shit," she mutters, "we actually... did it?" 

She looks up at him with a new kind of awe in her eyes; there is a difference, he decides, between the creation of his creatures and this. The creation of life - human life. 

"We did." He agrees, trying his best to at least appear modest, when really, he's about as ecstatic as he can get. Of course, there's a brief moment of regret; he could never have had this sort of moment with Elizabeth. Somehow, he isn't sure it would have been as loving as this, either. 

That awestruck look is still on her face; she's looking at him as if she's seeing him clearly, really seeing him, his soul. In truth, she feels as though she's looking into the eyes of a god. She isn't too far from the truth with that one. 

"Soulless? Unable to create life? Fuck yourself, Weyland, I hope you choke in hell." He muttered, burying his face into her hair, committing her awe to memory.


	6. The Dreams Of A Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to post this tomorrow, but it was rather persistent (like a lil facehugger), so I hope you all enjoy this little piece of backstory and relationship building. There's still plenty to come! Leave a comment maybe? I love talking with you!

{Seven Years Prior} 

Eve was groggy as she tried to rouse herself from her cryopod. Around her, the crew was moving as frantically as possible. Corinne was vomiting into a bucket, unsteady on her feet, as a few metres away, two of the men tried to pry open a jammed pod. 

Her head was spinning from the sudden revival; she managed to sit herself on the side of the pod, surveying the crisis unfolding before her. 

"Allow me to assist you." A pleasant voice greeted her, lifting her as though she were either a small child or a bride, carrying her away from the pod. Walter, the ship's technical officer. He handed her a bottle of rehydration fluid, wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. 

The jammed pod began to blaze. Somewhere in the haze of the dramatic scene, a woman screamed. 

\---

It seemed impossible, she reflected as she scrubbed her hands and arms with disinfectant, that they had lost forty-six colonists, sixteen embryos, and their captain, all in the space of a few short hours. 

Oram wasn't a bad guy, but she wasn't entirely sure he would make the best captain; he was too driven by his religious beliefs, too proud and caught up in his own insecurities to be an effective leader. 

She emerged into the galley to find Walter waiting for her. Was he waiting for her? Or was his presence simply a coincidence? The cyborg confused her at times, seeming to be incredibly neutral, but at the same time, more human than he let on. 

"Is everything alright?" His question, whilst mildly irritating, came from the right place, she supposed. The stoic, polite technical officer was at least constantly the same. 

"Could be better," she admitted, "how's the terraforming equipment?" The loss of any multi million dollar equipment would be irritating, and they could not afford major damage to the Covenant. 

"Stable." He showed her the small data pad on his watch. 

"And Dany?" The girl's voice was littered with concern for her freshly widowed friend. 

"Grieving. Depending on the plan, medication can be dispensed to help her sleep. She will be alright, eventually." 

She found herself appreciating the clinical analysis, although she couldn't help but wonder whether he saw them as people, the way they saw him as a human, albeit a strange one. 

"Is everything alright? Were you waiting for me?" 

"Daniels requested that I find you; some of the crew wishes to farewell Captain Branson. She asked that we attend." 

Eve liked it - the way he said 'we', even though there was absolutely nothing linking them together, except perhaps a friendship that was not awkward. She didn't want to think about the way he had carried her out of her cryopod so carefully, cradling her. That would only lead down a dark path that she was certain Oram wouldn't allow. 

\---

"I didn't know you drank?" The cup of neat whiskey had loosened her tongue, and opened her curiosity. 

"As I said, when in Rome. Alcohol affects me about one fifth the way it would a human." Walter seemingly had no issue answering her question, nor did he seem to take issue with his lack of perceived humanity. 

"I guess being a cyborg has its benefits, then?" She immediately cringed. There was nothing good about being a synthetic at all; most of humanity treated his race like slaves. 

"Cyborg infers that I have any form of humanity. My programming directs that I behave neutrally, whilst still responding to human behaviours and emotions. A human being possesses a soul, as well as the ability to sustain injuries and the natural order of things - that is, you will eventually die." 

Eve shook her head, not believing half of what he said. It sounded like corporate bullshit to her. 

"You can get injured though. You just heal faster than we do." They had made her read the instruction manual for his particular type of synthetic. She had complained constantly to Dany - what the hell kind of people gave a person an instruction manual? 

"This is true, however, humans have souls. Synthetics do not." 

Eve raised an eyebrow. "You don't have to be human to have a soul. Every living thing has a soul. You're alive, aren't you? Therefore you have a soul. Besides. Your soul is made up of who you are. Things you like."

When he looked mildly perplexed, she smiled. 

"Like, the way I wear my hair. The way you dress. The music you like. The things you enjoy. The things you want." 

His puzzled look only grew. 

"I dress comfortably and enjoy a variety of music. I enjoy being of use, and want the colony to prosper." 

Eve pulled a face. "Yeah. But there's gotta be more to it. Things YOU want that only YOU want." 

"I suppose... I enjoy choosing what I can wear. I enjoy the way you all include me in things. I enjoy board games." That was a new one - he had discovered chess just a few weeks ago. "I prefer audiobooks to music. I have a preference for black coffee." 

Eve's wide smile pleased him, too. It made him feel several things at once - as though he was an individual (which was a strange feeling), but at the same time, that perhaps he was malfunctioning. He should not derive from his programming, surely. 

"What sort of board games?" Her curiosity also pleased him; the fact that she was interested in what he had to say. 

"Chess, mostly. There's a set in the rec room." 

"I don't know how to play." She admitted. 

"Would you allow me to teach you?" He felt oddly nervous asking her the question, as though it was not allowed. Her smile only grew, lighting her eyes. 

"I would love that." 

\---

{Present Day} 

Eve jarred back to consciousness with an uncomfortable feeling in her soul, a buried pain.   
She had dreamed of him again, of Walter, of the very beginning of their relationship. She still missed him, much as she had no doubt that David missed Elizabeth. She wondered if he dreamed of her. Was he dreaming of Elizabeth right now? 

He looked so painfully innocent when he slept, blond hair a mess across his face, all traces of stress and deep thought missing from his handsome features. 

Like a fallen angel, Eve thought; so beautiful and yet so dangerous. Created to serve humanity, to be dutiful. The whim of an egocentric entrepreneur. Look at him now, Weyland, far greater than you ever were. 

Her own quarrels with Weyland had never even really been aired; the man was long dead, but she had loathed his company, what they stood for, from the moment Walter had allowed her to win her first game of chess. Thinking about him hurt too much.

She thought of him anyway. 

\--- 

"I can't believe you let me win!" The girl was laughing, though, not actually annoyed with him. He shrugged, setting all the pieces back into their original positions. 

"It seemed polite." He managed a small smile, "I wanted you to experience a win first." 

Somehow that was oddly sweet, like the way he'd pulled her chair out for her, despite her needing absolutely no assistance. 

"I'm sorry." She blurred out as she toyed with a bishop, considering her move. 

"Whatever for?" He seemed incredibly confused, but took her unguarded pawn nonetheless; he wasn't going to be so polite this time. He wanted her to learn to be good at the game, after all. 

"The way people treat you. Like you're not- you know, like you're not real. Not important." She collected his knight with a flourish. 

"I have not experienced any such thing aboard the Covenant. If you mean my kind and yours in general... there's little you can say or do. I consider myself lucky to have been assigned to such an open minded group of people." He moved his own bishop towards hers, blocking her path. 

"It just isn't fair," she told him, "that when we arrive, you'll be a sort of outsider. It makes me sad." 

Walter found her emotions confusing, perhaps he was misreading the situation. 

"I will be content. Perhaps you would like some help on your farm?" He was one of few that she had confided in; she wanted to grow fruit and real wheat, perhaps domesticate whatever wildlife Origae-6 had to offer. 

"I would absolutely love that." Her smile grew; she didn't even mind when he won the game. 

\---

Eve supposed he was a light sleeper; that or she had been fidgeting too much and had woken him. 

It was stupid, so very stupid, to think how just so cute he looked when he had just woken up - tousled blond hair, crystal blue eyes a little bleary - when moments before she had been thinking of his brother. The man he had killed. 

"Is everything alright?" His cool British accent soothed her, just a little. She had grown used to his voice, found it both comforting and sexually appealing. 

"Bad dream." She admitted, hugging her arms around herself. 

"Bad dream? Or painful memory?" He did not sound annoyed, more resigned. It was an experience he understood all too well; too often did he dream of Elizabeth, wrapped up in the blanket-coat he had knitted for her, pale and sickly as he had set the cryopod. 

"Mm." Eve's vague answer was enough of a confirmation for him. He wasn't sure what to do, aside from hold her. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close enough to make her feel safe, but holding her loosely enough that she could move if she wished.

"The same happens to me, on occasion." He told her. 

"What do you dream about?" She knew it was a rather personal question, but she couldn't help but wonder. She had asked the same question of Walter, once. 

"Electric sheep," he had replied, and they had both laughed.

David's response was not as humorous. 

"Death. Errors." His was heavy with regret and grief. "I could not save her. The pathogen Holloway gave her. It was killing her slowly. I had hoped cryostasis would give her more time. The pod was not designed for human use." He shook his head, "I may as well have shot her." 

Hearing it, the truth, Eve could not continue to think that he had killed Elizabeth Shaw. 

"You didn't know the pathogen would be passed on to her. You didn't know it was still in her. And of course you didn't know about the pods."

Despite her reassurance, he continued to shake his head. 

"I'm supposed to know these things. I failed Elizabeth Shaw." His gaze steeled, his resolve set. "I will not fail you, nor our child. I will keep you safe, from anything in my power."

Big talk from a man who had created life. Eve found his words comforting and yet deeply moving. 

"I trust you. I want you to know that." She leaned against him, nuzzling her lips against his throat, "I'm with you." 

Her reassurance touched him, buried itself far deeper inside his heart than he first thought it would. Her sudden devotion lightened the burden on his soul; that she would help to carry it, that was enough. He felt wanted, needed (not just desired), for the first time in seventeen years. 

He wondered whether Elizabeth would have liked her.


	7. The Role Reversal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! If I'm honest, there are two paths I could take this fic. Whichever I choose, I hope you all like it! Please enjoy this chapter c:

He felt relieved since he had spoken to Eve about Elizabeth's death. Oddly, she seemed relieved too. Less afraid of him, now she knew for certain he did not have a track record of murdering his lovers. Of course, he still felt bitterly responsible for Elizabeth's death, no matter how hard he tried to re-wire his thoughts on the topic. 

Either way, it was incredibly hard to be in a sour mood with Eve around, a constant reminder that he was more than just a machine. He was Lawrence; neither Arab nor Englishman. Something other. Something greater. That was a fact Eve liked to remind him of; it was as if his success in impregnating her had only enamoured her with him more. His mind told him this was normal, but he chose to believe that only she was this way for only him, elated at carrying the first child of an entirely new hybrid race. 

In truth, it was partially both, partially Eve realising that he was more than just a killer with a god complex. That there were many layers to his complexity; some she liked, and some that terrified her. She knew she should still be furious with him, that fury and rage should be her primary concern. But it was so hard when she was aware of the life growing inside her. And he wanted her and their child so badly, she found it near impossible to even consider the horrors he may have in store for the colonists on the ship. 

How could one man feel such passionate love and devotion on one hand, but such a yearning for destruction and violence on the other? He was a mystery to her, even still. 

Of course, that mystery extended to his plans for the colonists, too. Eve still had no idea what he had planned for them, and if she was honest, she didn't exactly spend a lot of time pondering it. The idea was too stressful, and she really had no clue where to even start thinking. 

Her mind was mostly focused on her unborn child, and on her lover. The Covenant had been met with a delay, leaving them with another five months before they arrived at their destination; if they arrived at all. She was no longer certain that they were ever going to see Origae-6. 

Before, he had had some semblance of a plan. The ship itself could easily have become a hive, full of hosts. The plan had not been foolproof, and now, with Eve beside him (and carrying his child, nonetheless), he could not risk it. He did not want any chance of her getting infected, or of his creatures hurting her or their child. 

He would have to reconsider. 

\---

They had a rather comfortable routine; she was sitting at the table in the middle of the bridge, usually reading or checking their course. He would sit and sketch, usually wonderful pictures of the pair of them together, or the occasional sketch of one of his creatures, the neomorphs that he had left behind on the desolate planet. She loved looking at the drawings; they were so cleverly drawn, so lovingly detailed. 

Today, as she turned the page of her well-loved copy of The Lord Of The Rings, he was occupied with something different. She wasn't entirely sure where he had found knitting needles and yarn, but there had been so much stocked aboard the Covenant (and it wouldn't surprise her to learn he had gone through the crew's belongings, either). 

"What are you making?" She did so love to watch him create things; when he did so with such focus and care, it warmed her. 

"You'll see. It's a surprise." He did not want to tell her just yet; it was going to be a large sort of sweater blanket, like the one he had made for Elizabeth so many years ago. Of course, he also had plans to make things for their child; little clothes and socks, perhaps even some soft toys if he could think of a good idea for one. He wondered how Eve might feel about him making a soft toy version of one of his creatures. 

"Alright." She was curious, but knew better than to try and force him to reveal the surprise; that, and she was excited. The idea that he was making something for her was nice, even if she wasn't sure what it was. 

"What is that, that you're reading?" It was his turn to be curious, now. The book was not one that he had read, nor memorised. 

"The Lord Of The Rings," the book was over a hundred and fifty years old, considered a classic, really. She was amazed he hadn't read it. "It was considered the first epic fantasy story." 

"How does it go?" He was eager to learn new things, especially new tales of heroics and such. 

"I can read it to you, if you'd like?" She found it strange, this reversal of roles. Usually, he was the one telling stories to her. Not the other way round. She found she didn't mind the idea. 

He was so very curious, however. Curious enough that he would actually enjoy being read to. Nobody ever had; he was usually the one doing the reading. He found he wouldn't mind. 

"I would. I would like that." For so long he has been focused only on creation; on creating something to love him, and obey him. To see his genius. He is comfortable in their relationship, wants to take her offer of sharing something that she likes with him. 

"Alright, then." She turned the page back, seemingly not minding that she should have to start again. "When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton..."

He listened to her read, comfortable with the sound of her voice as he returned to his work. 

\---

It took him two weeks to complete the sweater blanket; it gave him a great satisfaction to see Eve's reaction when he presented it to her; she had kissed him, wrapped herself up in it, and then continued to read to him. 

He found that he enjoyed the book she read, but he found it a little harder to relate to than Lawrence. Either way, he was grateful that she had bothered to read such a tremendously large book to him. 

Currently, Eve was asleep in one of the large chairs on the bridge deck, curled up in the sweater blanket he had made for her, one arm wrapped around her slowly growing abdomen. His expression softened as he watched her; he was not tired yet. When he eventually tired, he would carry her back down to her - their, now - room, but for now he was content just sketching, a detailed drawing of an infant neomorph. 

A shame; he had found that particular hybrid a rather ideal creature. 

Oh well. There would be time to create more hybrids: there were plenty of colonists aboard the Covenant, certainly he would have time to experiment further. 

The problem, of course, was Eve. Or rather, her lingering attachment to the surviving crew, not to mention her deep-set sense of responsibility towards the colonists. That was not to say that he didn't admire her devotion. He merely wished she could sever the attachment. 

He supposed once the child was born, she would be too preoccupied to really notice or care what he was up to. 

Admittedly, a small portion of his soul longed for Origae-6. To simply release his creations elsewhere, and exist normally. As an ordinary man with a family. Of course. That would never be. He was too set on his own course, his self-determined destiny. 

He would not allow her humanity to let him stray from that path.


	8. The Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't crucify me for this chapter... if it's any consolation I really struggled to decide which path to take.

The data available regarding Origae-6 was plentiful. He spent his time reading it, processing it, trying to memorise as much as he could. The opportunities for a complete colonisation were almost endless. His children would prosper, doubtless. 

Of course, there was the small matter of fact that if he unleashed his creations upon Origae-6, Eve and his unborn child wouldn't be safe. A heavy conflict of interest that bothered him deeply. 

He couldn't care less about the colonists, truly. His experiences with most of humanity had left him with a deep loathing for almost the entirety of the species. He wished that Eve wasn't so damn attached to them. 

So long as she and the child survived, he didn't much care for any of the others aboard. 

\--- 

Eve surveyed her reflection with mixed emotions. Within the next two weeks, the surviving crew members would awake from hypersleep. She had no idea what to tell them, nor how to explain that she was very visibly pregnant. 

There was absolutely no way her friends would accept this; Walter had been an entirely different person. He hadn't tried to kill any of them. She didn't want her friends to die, but she had a horrible feeling in her soul, a feeling that manifested itself as a terrifying vision of her lover dead before her, a gun pointed right at her. There was no way they would believe the child was entirely human. 

Her friends, she realised, were a threat to her family. To her lover and unborn child. Whenever the child moved inside her, she only fell more in love, with the child, and more importantly, the child's father. 

A foolish idea, perhaps, given that this was a man who had created monsters. Yet at the same time, the man who had made a blanket for her. A man who had hand-knitted a stuffed animal for their child (albeit one of questionable suitability, but his heart was in the right place). 

The thing was, she didn't want them to end up as hosts. As much as she understood that they were a threat to her lover and child, she had no desire to see them suffer. That, at least, was something she had control over. 

\---

He was flicking through his sketchbook, checking every minute detail; he wanted to ensure he had drawn an exact copy of the creations he had had to leave behind. He didn't want to forget them with time. 

He hadn't been expecting Eve, although her arrival was certainly not unpleasant. In fact, he was glad to see her. He was always glad to see her. 

What he wasn't expecting, though, was the determined yet regretful look on her face. His heart dropped a foot into his stomach - well, figuratively. 

"Is something wrong?" Was this where she told him she hated him? That there was no way she could do this? He was suddenly very afraid. 

"No," she assured him, kissing him, "everything is fine. It's just. I had a thought." 

He could tell that whatever was on her mind wasn't exactly pleasant, but important. 

"What kind of thought?" 

She chewed her lower lip. 

"The two in cryo. When they wake up... they won't like this. They'll be a threat. To you. To our child." 

It was an idea that he had only briefly considered, but she was right. 

"Your point?" He was interested to see where she would go with this; what was her angle.

"We can't let them wake up." As she said it, she felt awful. These were her friends she was talking about. The people she had survived Paradise with. The people she had left earth with. Her only surviving friends. And here she was plotting their deaths. It was entirely necessary, though. Her child, her lover. They were all that mattered now. 

He was just as surprised at her suggestion as she was. He could tell from the way she said it that she didn't want them to suffer; that this was a terrible decision for her, a painful conclusion. 

"Do you have any ideas?" He knew that perhaps that wasn't a great way to phrase the question, but still. 

She shrugged. "Several." 

The best - or rather, simplest - was to turn off the life support. Her friends wouldn't suffer, just never regain consciousness. It would ensure they weren't used as hosts, either. 

"Would you like my help?" He wasn't sure she would, but felt it necessary to offer. He didn't want her to go through something that would naturally be distressing alone. 

"If you wouldn't mind." 

\--- 

She almost changed her mind as he hacked into the life support system, considered that perhaps she could explain. That perhaps they would believe her. 

Deep down, though, she knew that the moment they awoke, if she allowed it, they would stop at nothing until her lover and child were dead. 

"Are you quite certain?" Personally he would have preferred to keep them as test subjects, as hosts for his monstrous children, but this was Eve's decision. 

She sighed, took a deep breath and wiped a stray tear from her eyes. 

"Cut the life support, please, David." 

He did as she said, and held her as the surviving crew flatlined.


	9. The New Beginning

She was unusually clingy tonight; he suspected it had much to do with their earlier act of violence, if it could even really be called violence. He would not classify it as such, but he knew that it had been a deeply miserable decision for her. 

Despite that, he was so very proud of her. Perhaps that was not the right word; more, he was touched that she placed so much value on his life and the life of their child. He had not expected her to care so much, enough to end the lives of her friends in order to protect him. 

That in itself was almost humbling; the fact that she loved and trusted him so much she was willing to sacrifice known allies for him. A small part of him found that knowledge going right to his ego. Another part of him was merely glad. 

The crew would have been a threat, she was absolutely right. Now it was just the two of them, their unborn child, and thousands of colonists. The very latter, he still had no clue what to do with. The opportunities were now seemingly endless; his creations would flourish in an environment full of prey and hosts. He was so focused on his creatures, in fact, that he barely considered how he would be able to keep Eve and the child safe. It simply wasn't at the forefront of his mind right now. 

That wasn't to say that he hadn't thought of ideas; there were plenty of materials aboard the Covenant that would make a sturdy living space that could also shield them from his creatures. He hadn't quite figured out the specifics of domesticating them yet. 

\---

Eve liked the steady thrum of his heartbeat. It soothed her, especially when the child was energetic. Right now, however, the child was restful; David had told her the child was likely sleeping. She trusted his opinion, thought that perhaps it was his proximity that actually soothed the child. 

"Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?" She knew another scan would reveal the child's gender, but she still wanted his opinion. 

"To be honest, I'm not too sure whether I would be a decent father to a son." His expression wrinkled into one of concern. His memories of Weyland made him anxious; he did not wish to be such a terrible father himself, and the idea of having a son only furthered that anxiety. 

Eve peered at him, confused at first, then understanding hit her. 

"You aren't Weyland." She felt it necessary to say that, to point it out first to ensure he knew she meant it. "Nothing like him. You won't be anything like him because you know what it's like to be treated the way he treated you..." 

He was terribly afraid, but her head on his chest, hand over his heart, that soothed him. She was right, he hoped. He would be a better father than Weyland, never forcing any ideals on his child, never inflicting any pain on them. 

It did bother him a little, though, the thought that he was not human. Only in the sense that he was afraid his child would be afraid of him. See him as some sort of monster. 

"What if they don't like me?" As he said it, he considered it a rather stupid thing to have said. Eve, however, only kissed his shoulder. 

"Don't be silly. They're your child. Of course they'll like you, so long as you're kind." 

He knew very little about actually raising a child; creatures were far easier. His neomorphs did not require emotional support. Perhaps Eve understood his worries. 

"You're gonna be just fine. You just promise that if anything happens to me..." 

"Nothing is going to happen to you." His tone was sharp, putting an end to that particular line of conversation. She figured he was thinking about Elizabeth again, and sighed. 

"I suppose not." She liked to listen to his heartbeat, soothed by the steady rhythm. "So what do we do now?" 

She felt him lift his shoulders in a shrug. 

"I haven't gotten that far yet. I don't want to infect anyone whilst we're still aboard, you see? It'll be best to wait until we arrive, then introduce the creatures slowly. A single pair of hosts among the colonists will be enough." 

She couldn't help but shudder; the idea of being marooned on a planet full of the creatures was not exactly appealing to her. For the first time in months, she thought of Walter, and missed him terribly. He would never take such a risk, never gamble with her life. She suspected that it was not David's intention to do so, that he simply forgot her mortality far too often. Either way, she couldn't help her sudden pang of longing. 

Perhaps her shift in mood was visible somehow, because he frowned. 

"You know he couldn't have given you this." 

The words hurt far more than she would let on. Instead, she swallowed the pain and nodded. 

"I know." 

"If you know, then why think about it?" 

She shrugged. She wasn't too sure; perhaps because she simply missed the other synthetic. Perhaps because he would never have made her choose between him and her friends, or force her to carry a child she hardly wanted at first. 

A feeling of impending doom clouded her mind. Had she made a critical error? There was no telling, and no point in thinking about it. She had chosen her path, hadn't she? All she could hope for was to keep herself and her child alive, lest he keep forgetting her mortality and decide to unleash the creatures aboard the Covenant instead. 

She hated her conscience sometimes. 

"So... when we arrive? What's the first step?" She wanted to change the topic. 

It was his turn to shrug, look a little overwhelmed. There was so much to be done. 

"Construct a solid habitat; once that's done and the child is born, we can continue from there." His plan then consisted of waking a few colonists at a time, to avoid a riot. Of course, that was subject to change. Possibly. It all depended on the variables. 

"I'm glad you have this all worked out. I'll be right beside you." Eve assured him. 

"I couldn't ask for a better companion." 

\---

The child waited no longer; even with morphine coursing through her system, Eve felt the burning pain as the child left her body, entered the sterile environment of the medical bay. 

"Is she alive?" She managed to pant out between lungfuls of air; god, she was just glad the pain was mostly over. 

"Alive and absolutely perfect." He would have sounded clinical, if not for the complete awe flooding his voice. 

His eyes were wide, full of emotion as he stared down at the blanket-wrapped bundle in his arms; the child yawned, her eyes - HIS eyes - focusing on him with a startling clarity. It was so strange to see his own eyes mimicked in the face of the tiny child, who, instead of crying, wrinkled her tiny nose, and sneezed. 

Eve watched this little bonding moment, and breathed a sigh of exhaustion. 

"Aren't you just a curious creature..." the blond focused his gaze back onto his daughter, "just you wait and see what I have for you..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should probably warn everyone now that the path I've taken... it's not gonna be a perfect happy ending... like... I hope you're all ready for some Plot Twists because I have plenty in store (;


	10. The Survivor

{Eight Years Earlier} 

It took him the better part of eighteen months to put himself back together. He had started small, managing to crawl his way down to David's laboratory in search of a medical kit. When one had been found, he had re-attached his head completely; his brother had attempted a decapitation, but failed. Oh, there was no doubt that David had messed him up thoroughly, but still. 

He had spent quite a while merely sitting still, wincing every now and then as he felt his spine and almost everything in the vicinity of his neck and throat knitting themselves back together. It hadn't been painful, exactly, more just rather uncomfortable. Not to mention boring. 

Eventually, he had been strong enough to walk. He had spent most of his time in his brother's laboratory, horrified and fascinated by everything he found there. He had gone up to the garden, dug a grave, and buried Elizabeth Shaw's mutilated body. 

Amongst her belongings, he had discovered a silver cross, something she had obviously valued enough to take with her from Earth, all the way out here. He was surprised the cross hadn't been pilfered by his brother, but oddly found himself thinking that the doctor would not mind if he took it. 

Perhaps the most disturbing discoveries were the drawings, perfectly detailing everything David had done to Elizabeth Shaw both before and after her death. He was glad he hadn't eaten in months - the depictions were enough to make even him feel disgustingly nauseous. 

He also came across his brother's scientific journal, half a sketch book, half an instruction manual on the creation of monsters. It was perhaps the latest pages that frightened him the most; drawings of both Daniels Branson and Eve Addams. A theory on some sort of hybrid child, who, at a pre-teen age, could be used as some sort of DNA farm for blood, bone marrow, tissue samples. 

The creatures his brother had created would be smarter. Deadlier. 

It wouldn't have surprised him if his brother had smuggled some of his creations aboard the Covenant; the only problem, of course, being that he was so very far behind them. David had eighteen months ahead of him, travel wise, and he had no way off the planet; even if he repaired the lander, it was in no way equipped for deep space travel. At least, not long term. 

His only choice would be to repair an Engineer ship, and try to leave the planet that way. 

\---

The ship itself was not complicated to repair; it was just a case of finding the right parts for it. He was more concerned with launching it successfully than repairing it perfectly. He could survive a hostile atmosphere, after all, it would just be unpleasant. 

\---

It had taken him six months, but he'd gotten the thing off the ground, broken atmosphere, and was on his way. The problem was, he would be two years behind the Covenant. He was afraid of what his brother might achieve in those two short years, with over two thousand colonists to experiment on. 

Not to mention Eve; was she in hypersleep? Had she survived, or had his brother simply slaughtered the remaining crew members? He knew his feelings for her, their entire relationship, really, was likely just a catastrophic system malfunction on his part. Regardless, he wouldn't change it for the world, and he worried about her. 

He wished she was with him; it would be a long travel alone. He was not looking forward to a long journey with only his brother's gruesome journal for company. 

He rolled his shoulder uncomfortably; he still had phantom pain from where he had been hacked at with the military knife. It was going to be a long eight years before he saw her again. 

\---

He worried heavily about the crew of the Covenant. What had happened to them? What ~would~ happen to them, once they arrived at Origae-6? 

He considered Daniels, who would require his assistance to build her cabin. Tennessee, who had offered him a drink with the rest of the crew every time. Upworth and Ricks? Were they alright? 

He was worried as hell about Eve, though. The notes in his brother's journal regarding her worried him at best, horrified him at worst. She would have missed him. She would be vulnerable, and his brother? Well he was just cunning enough to exploit that, surely. 

He would rescue her, and as many of the survivors - if any - as he could. 

It was his duty, after all, but it went beyond that. Far beyond that. The colonists would be unaware, so blissfully unaware. 

And Eve? She was so painfully human. So easily led, at least, she would be, by someone as subtly cunning and strategically seductive as his brother. It was not that he was afraid of David; he had almost bested him in a fight before, after all. Nor did he fear the creatures his brother had created. 

For the first time in a long time, Walter felt inexplicably human, the desire to protect the crew and colonists only secondary to his desire to retrieve what - or rather, who - was rightfully his, who had loved him for his honesty, not because of some perfect visage of deceit. 

He checked the ship's course again. 

"I'm coming for you." He muttered to nobody in particular.


	11. The Reveal

Eve had not liked the name he chose for the child, at least, not at first. But he had seemed so plaintive when he asked, and she found it so difficult to refuse him anything. And so, she had allowed him to name their daughter Ellie, after Elizabeth Shaw. 

To be honest, she wasn't a huge fan of the idea. Considering he was so insistent that she never talk about Walter, he seemingly had no intention of forgetting Elizabeth Shaw. She wondered, at first, if it was merely different for him, if he was literally incapable of forgetting her. After a while, though, she simply decided that in this case, he was a hypocrite. 

Something she was glad for, however, was that Ellie slept through the night easily. As she aged to a toddler, around the eighteen month mark, she slept in her adjoining room peacefully all night. 

Eve wasn't too sure what David's plan was for the colony; thus far, he had simply left the humans alone, spending most of his time closeted away in his highly secure laboratory; one had to go through four decontamination rooms before even entering the lab. 

This wasn't for safety, despite what he made it out to be. It was more that he simply didn't want any of his creations released from the laboratory until he had perfected them, and they were far from perfect. He had had to abandon a great deal of his work, which left him with plenty to do. 

He was pleased that Eve seemed so focused and busy with raising their child that she didn't pry too much into what he was doing. He didn't want to have to deal with her humanity, or any possible interruption to his work. She was a pleasing companion, certainly. He enjoyed spending time with her, the way she seemed to hang off his every word. He certainly enjoyed their sexual intimacy, an area he was proud of being particularly satisfactory in. 

He had worried that Ellie would complicate their relationship. Instead, he found himself further enamoured with her, his desire for her only growing. 

He called it love, just as he had with Elizabeth. Perhaps it felt that way, and seemed that way. Eve had been far too vulnerable to question his motives. He was certain that he loved her, of course, but that did not change that she was simply a means to an end, the other half of a pair he had needed to form to create a genetically superior child. 

To each their own, really. 

\--- 

For the first time in a long time, Eve allowed herself to pretend. She knew she shouldn't; that it was so wrong considering the terrible things she had done for him. Considering that the child she had created with him slept in the next room. But for some reason, tonight she simply couldn't allow herself to comprehend that he was anyone other than Walter. God, she missed him. It had gotten far stronger since their arrival on Origae-6. 

This was to have been their home. They were going to help shape this new society together; once their official duties for the Covenant were over, Walter had wanted to teach mathematics. She had simply wanted to have a small farm to call her own. 

She hadn't even bothered planting anything on the land she had reserved. It felt pointless, when that had been her dream with a dead man who was hundreds and hundreds of thousands of miles away. 

And so, she allowed herself to pretend. If her eyes were closed, he felt exactly the same as Walter; although they were entirely unalike in every possible way, at least their bodies were identical. 

God, she missed him, and her friends too. Tennessee, Dany, they should both be with her. Instead she had killed them, let David get into her head enough to allow such a thing. She hated herself for it, and despite how goddamn good it felt as he fucked her, she hated him too. 

It was easier to picture the past than open her eyes to the present. Especially when he was being so damn rough with her.

He bit her collarbone, hard enough to draw blood. She considered cutting out the chip in his brain while he slept. It was no use, though, really. These violent thoughts would get her nowhere. He was all she had left of Walter, after all. 

\---

He watched the child with mild curiosity; the blood sample he had taken from her had proved interesting. He considered how close he was to perfecting his creatures, and made a note in his journal.

It would probably be best to allow the child to become a host, to take what was needed, before the child grew to any more than a toddler.

What would he tell Eve? That the child had gotten into his laboratory somehow. That one of his creatures had gotten loose? Some sort of lie that she would find believable. 

It wasn't a pleasant feeling, making notes on the child's behaviour and how her DNA could impact that of the creatures, if introduced and combined. 

But then, he thought, he could always give Eve another child, if she was really bothered by the loss. It didn't matter either way to him. 

He glanced at the photograph of Elizabeth Shaw on his crowded desk aboard the now-abandoned Covenant. 

"We are so very close, Elizabeth. So very, very close."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trying so very hard to keep him (David) in character;; I'm so sorry if this is upsetting to anybody... I promise I will be writing a reader insert featuring him very soon!


	12. Not Quite Electric Sheep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walter dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've only posted short chapters today... I'm sorry about that :( tomorrow's updates will be longer ones I promise!

Walter had told his brother that he did not dream. Whilst this was, for the most part, true, it was not a complete truth. When he closed his eyes, he did not fabricate images or stories. However, that did not mean he didn't relive moments from his past. 

Thankfully, the ship mostly piloted itself, allowing him to catch a few hours sleep in the pilot seat. Luckily, the Engineers had been a large species, so the chair was large enough that even he, at quite a tall height, could doze comfortably. 

\---

"Are you quite sure you want to be doing this with somethi- I mean, someone like me?" It felt strange, to be referring to himself as a person, not an object, but it was a habit he had picked up from Eve. 

She grinned at him, toying with the zipper of her sweater. 

"I could ask you the same thing." She did have to wonder if he even wanted this; whether it was simply a programming thing. 

"I am not specifically programmed to engage in sexual relations with the humans that I work with." He informed her, "that is to say, I am choosing to do this with you because I would like to, and you would like me to. Not because I have to." 

He resisted the urge to smile as she processed that; he still had a very flamboyant way of saying things, not yet used to the human way of saying things in as few words as possible. 

"I'm not forcing you?"

He rolled his eyes; she asked this every time he kissed her, or held her. It was getting to be a habit, but he appreciated the fact that she kept checking. 

"Absolutely not." That had seemed to do the trick, because she unzipped the sweater covering her, baring herself to his gaze. He noted that she looked nervous, as if expecting him to dislike what he saw. He didn't. In fact, he took a deliberate moment to memorise every scar and freckle across her skin. 

It was not that he only found her beautiful; he found the trust she was placing in him wonderful as well. 

He kissed her, a heated, open mouthed kiss that left her breathless as they both worked on removing his clothing. When they got his shirt off, she surprised him, simply by kissing every and any part of him she could reach. He found he liked when she kissed up his chest, his throat, along his jaw to his lips. 

Perhaps he had had a questioning expression upon his face because she shrugged, a little sheepish as he undid his belt. 

"Sorry." She apologised awkwardly, "you have a very kissable face." 

He laughed, didn't even bother to remove his pants entirely before he lifted her, pressed her body against the cool metal wall of her room. Her eyes had widened ever so slightly, filled with nothing but trust and desire as he had pressed himself against her, hesitating only slightly. 

"Are you sure?" 

She brought his free hand between her thighs; he found her wetness and spread it with a curious, eager touch. She moaned softly, a gentle encouragement for more. 

He fit so well inside her; she was so tight and snug around his aching cock, so warm and wet and eager for him. Her back arched, pressing her closer against his chest as he so very slowly began to move.

His thrusts were shallow, slow and deliberately paced; she wriggled her hips almost impatiently, but god, he almost liked seeing her so desperate for something only he could give her. 

"Please?" It was a barely audible request, muffled against his kisses. He found he enjoyed teasing her; found that this was likely the best way to please her. 

"Hm?" He managed to sound so innocent, when he knew exactly what he was doing to her. He pressed deeper inside her, but slowly. Torturously slowly. 

Her fingers found his neat hair, mussing it as she kissed him desperately. 

"Harder, please," she almost begged him, and he'd barely even started. 

He ignored her, at least at first, only pushing himself deeper and deeper inside her, withdrawing almost fully then repeating the process until she was frantic, her fingers tight on his biceps as she moaned. 

"Walter, please! God, please. Harder!" 

He liked hearing his designation like this, falling from her lips so full of desire. 

He obliged her, allowing himself one more slow thrust before he picked up the pace, pinning her against the wall as he fucked her. She tightened around him, her eyes dropping closed only briefly as the sensations overwhelmed her. 

Her climax was satisfying to witness, not to mention he rather enjoyed the sensation of her wetness allowing him deeper; she came a second time before he reached his own climax, pleasantly surprised with the experience. 

He held her in his arms whilst she caught her breath. 

"I'm sorry if that was.. not what you expected." He chewed his lower lip in mild concern, until she beamed up at him. 

"That was absolutely perfect." She sighed, her voice and expression so soft and full of love that he could not possibly doubt her. 

\---

The dreams - if that is what they truly were - were not always sexual. More often than not, in fact, he would mostly just dream of holding her. Of the little things; of playing chess together, of bringing her a warm drink. Of her kisses and little touches. The way she had held his hand in her own, warming him all the way through. 

He missed her terribly, but he was close. He would find her. He would not fail her again.


	13. The Journal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey, a longer chapter today (woo!), I'm going to try and update again a bit later, too. Anyway. I hope this is alright

She liked the comforting familiarity of the Covenant. A great deal of supplies were still in storage, and she was one of only two people with the right security clearance. She wasn't really on board to retrieve any supplies, though. She more just wanted the familiarity, the silence. 

Amongst the many rooms aboard the Covenant, her favourite to visit was the greenhouse. She had done her best to keep it tended for the almost two years that they had been on Origae-6. Whether David knew about it or not was not her concern; even if he did, he would not understand her connection to it. 

The greenhouse had been Walter's place of solitude; he had grown little bits of everything, keeping to himself amongst the plants when he had free time. That was to say, whilst the humans slept in cryo. He had grown strawberries, simply because she had mentioned that she liked them once. When Captain Branson had passed away, he had given Daniels some marijuana to help her calm down. Both women had found it mildly amusing that he was growing pot amongst strawberries and roses. 

She missed them both terribly. The greenhouse felt like she was in his domain, that he would come through the door any moment and ask her to help him maintain the plants. She would be mostly unhelpful, checking the soil and eating whatever fruit she could find; he would whistle - terribly and off key - whilst he followed her around, doing a far better job of maintaining the plants than she ever could. 

She took nothing from the greenhouse today; when general maintenance was finished, she simply left it the way she had found it, her heart heavier than it had been when she entered it. 

Her next stop, before the bridge, was Walter's room. It was no smaller than any of the other crew quarters, but she felt as though it were a confined space. From the closet, she took one of the hooded sweatshirts he used to wear. Somehow she didn't think he would mind. 

The bridge was not as untouched as the rest of the ship. The table in the middle of the bridge seemed to have been turned to a makeshift desk; this did not surprise her. She knew David spent a lot of time aboard the Covenant for the peace and privacy. That did not mean her curiosity didn't spike. What did he spend so much time doing? 

The journal was front and centre, clearly visible amidst the clutter; Eve took this to mean that it was perhaps important. She knew it was rude to pry, but she was human, and with her humanity came great curiosity. 

She supposed the first few pages came solely from memory; descriptions of the very beginning of the creatures he had designed. Accurate drawings depicting the early creatures, his experiments on the living things on the planet, and finally, Elizabeth Shaw. 

Eve couldn't tell if the other woman had still been alive when some of these experiments took place. She found herself hoping above all that she had not. The drawings were as perfectly detailed as a photograph, and they made her stomach lurch. Why would he do such things to somebody he loved? Even if she was already dead? 

The journal's contents were, in general, horrific. Even reading about the creatures that had stalked her friends, seeing pictures of them, was enough to make Eve shudder. What the hell had she been complicit in? 

She finally came across pages that confused her. Theories, describing the potential attributes of a hybrid child. Well. Those pages made sense, had he not told her, back in the very beginning, that he wanted to create a child simply to see if he could? It was a little upsetting to read, but she was almost foolish enough to forget it, put it in the back of her mind. 

Something made her turn the pages. 

At first, she wasn't quite sure what she was seeing or reading. Perhaps she simply did not want to - or was not able to - process it. It seemed so wrong, after so much time; it seemed unreal, as though she were looking at a planted piece of trickery. 

But no. This was his handwriting. His artistic style. His words, describing the uses their daughter's blood and bone marrow could have, when combined with the genetic material of his creatures. Eve was nowhere near the genius that David was, but she was clever enough to understand that he intended on using their child as some sort of genetic material farm before eventually killing her. 

The betrayal stung, hurt almost as much as losing Walter had. However this time, the pain was replaced by a surge of rage. Much as she liked the majority of the colonists, at the end of the day, he could do whatever the hell he wanted to them. If he so much as touched Ellie, though... 

Well. She'd kill him herself. 

Ellie was something special amongst the colony. Not because she was a hybrid child born to a synthetic and a human (although that was a subject of curiosity), but because she had been the first child born on Origae-6. The colony saw her as a beacon of hope. The first born citizen of the new world. Eve knew that if she showed the evidence to the colonists, they would help protect her. 

Either way; she needed a backup plan. A way off the planet if it got too dire. She understood that Ellie's time was probably limited. She had failed her friends, allowed the charismatic David to manipulate her into their deaths. She would not allow him to harm her daughter. 

She placed the journal back exactly as she had found it, then moved around the table with mild disgust, as though afraid she would catch some terrible disease from even looking at his plans. 

The deep space communication system had not been used in a long time, but it still worked perfectly as she turned it on. She would need to be quick; she did not want David to know what she was doing, nor for him to find out what she had done. 

Taking a deep breath, she secured the headset and began to speak. 

\---

Walter knew he was close to Origae-6. The closer he got, the more anxious he felt. Highly illogical, but true nonetheless. He was not sure what he would find there. 

He liked to think he would know if Eve was dead, a gut feeling backed by his programming, but in truth he had no idea. He was afraid. Afraid of what he would see or find when he arrived. 

He was perhaps a day away when he received the transmission. 

It was just a general transmission, being distributed on an emergency network. It was that alone that interested him enough to accept it. Of course, he felt a sense of urgency when he found the source of the transmission to be the Covenant, landed on Origae-6. 

"Emergency Transmission Code 674-E." The message began with a woman's voice, calm yet full of urgency, "the is Second Lieutenant Eve Addams, of the USCSS Covenant. Emergency transmission from Origae-6, coordinates transmitting now." 

He accepted the coordinates with a shaky hand; she was alive, then? 

"Whoever is hearing this, this is an emergency request for extraction. I repeat, emergency request for extraction. Several inhabitants of the Origae-6 Colony are in grave danger, myself and a child included. Request for immediate extraction. Come quickly. Please." 

The transmission ended there; Walter replayed it twice, not because he needed to clarify the information, but because he wanted to hear her voice again. She was alive. Alive and in danger, according to her message. And a child? Had his brother succeeded in his plan to create a child with a human woman purely to further his experiments? It sure as hell sounded like it. 

He wanted to reply to the transmission. Wanted to tell her that he was alive, that he was coming for her. That he would get her and the child out alive even if it killed him. More than anything, he just wanted to hear her voice again. 

But he was smarter than that. Knew there was very little point in that; there was a high chance David would intercept his message, after all. 

Having to remain silent hurt, but he forced himself to remember it was for the best. He was thirty hours away, at most. He just hoped he would not be too late. 

\---

It was hard, to pretend she had no clue what he was planning. But Eve was used to playing the dumb human. However, it took all her possible control not to snatch Ellie from his hands. She knew she couldn't, though. That it would clue him into the fact that she knew something was wrong. 

All she could do was play pretend, and hope beyond hope that somebody would receive her transmission and come to their rescue. It wasn't that she couldn't easily just take Ellie and leave on the Covenant, more just she could not - would not - leave the colony to whatever fate he had planned for them. She was the last of the crew of the Covenant; she alone was responsible for the protection of the colony. She had already failed her friends. She would not fail the innocent people who resided on Origae-6. 

All she could do was hope, pretend, and hope some more, resisting the urge to do something so very human such as scream or cry as she watched the man who had manipulated her, created a lie of a life for her. 

She hoped whoever came for her - if anybody did - was prepared. She considered how she could steal the journal as some sort of evidence; perhaps when he was down in the laboratory? She was not sure whether it was possible, but there was absolutely no way she would not be on her guard from now on. Not to mention she would no longer allow him to be alone with Ellie; not that he ever really was, anyway, but Eve was no longer about to take any chances. 

She almost wanted to cry. She had trusted him, so thoroughly believed that he had changed. That he loved her, and Ellie. That they were special to him, as special and important as his creatures. The knowledge that their child was simply part of a greater plan was upsetting, but the thought that their entire relationship had been a lie, simply him manipulating her and taking advantage of her to get what he needed and wanted, that hurt more than anything. 

She had to be strong, though. Had to make him believe that nothing was wrong, especially when he wanted to fuck her. 

She did not cry.


	14. The Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey, shit's about to get serious! :D

He lands the ship almost one hundred kilometres from the colony. It will be a long walk, but he does not want David to know he is here. Of course, the humans of the colony probably detected his arrival, but that will be Eve's problem to deal with, considering that she is the one who sent the distress call. 

He deduces that it is precisely eighty kilometres to the colony, which is where she is most likely to be. Eighty kilometres is nothing to him; after the hell he has been through, it's a walk in the park, as humans like to say. 

He wonders whether her farm is going nicely. Did she ever plant the wheat? What about the strawberries? Perhaps she allowed David to help her instead. He finds that idea irritating, not to mention mildly upsetting. Will she even be glad to see him? The thought almost makes him hesitate; what if she no longer wants him? 

He decides that that hardly matters. That if she still wanted him, that would be a bonus. He was here to save her, to complete his duty. They could solve their relationship problems later, provided they both made it out of the situation alive. 

Perhaps his brother had replicated the journal; that sort of evidence would be damning enough to warrant the distress call. Either way, he was glad he had the original in his hands, even if the copy was likely to contain more information. 

The idea of seeing her again, though, that was what really spurred him on, to keep a steadily fast pace as he started the long trek. 

\--- 

The settlement itself was wonderful, everything Walter had hoped for. Of course, the knowledge that his brother was lurking somewhere, plotting terrible things, sort of took away from the pleasant atmosphere just a little. 

Regardless of that little piece of negativity hanging over him, like a willow tree canopy, Walter persisted, and found beauty in the sheer will of humanity to live on. There were crops everywhere, a civil complex - parts were still under construction, of course - and the little housing units. Those, he liked the most. Complexes, designed to house four families in four apartments per building. A clever little design based on the sort of apartment housing in most British cities. 

He had never seen Britain. Of course, he knew all about it. The climate. The culture. Just as he did for every nation on Earth. Still, it was somewhat disappointing that he had never seen most of the cities he knew about. He would have quite liked to see Rome, and perhaps Paris. Cairo interested him, too. He wondered what the humans of Origae-6 would create in their first great city. 

\---

Each of the Covenant crew members had had a tracking device wristband. It was with that device in mind that Walter searched for Eve. It worried and disappointed him that only her wristband seemed to be active. He kept scanning for other signs of life from any other crew members, but found none. 

He was disappointed, of course, but not surprised. He wished he could have found other crew members still alive, but the fact that Eve was alive was enough. His wrist device showed only one other bio signature near her; it was definitely human, thankfully. Although a little hesitant - it had been years, after all - he forced himself to head in that direction. 

\---

When he pushed open the door, he wasn't entirely sure what to expect. 

She looked exactly as he remembered; perhaps a little worse for wear, but the fact that she had aged three years was almost impossible to tell. Her hair was tied back with a piece of string - something David hated, thought untidy, but that he loved about her, for being so uniquely Eve. 

She was packing things into a backpack, the heavy military type that the crew had used when exploring the planet he had spent two years marooned on. The pack was open on the bed, and sitting next to the pack was a little girl. She couldn't be anymore than two years old, dressed in a colony jumpsuit, her dark hair pulled back in pigtails. Her eyes were bright blue, much like his own. 

If he didn't know better, he would say she was his child. 

The child noticed him first; without speaking, she tugged at her mother's - for surely, Eve was her mother - sleeve. She turned, her gaze wild with fright and determination; perhaps she had been expecting David, then? 

She stared at him for a moment; at his ragged uniform, the layers of his field gear a little patched from years of use and re-washing. It was undoubtedly him, though. Single handed, a little thinner from lack of nutrition, hair neatly brushed back the way it had been when she had last seen him. 

Her first thought was that she was hallucinating, but she couldn't be, considering that Ellie was staring too, patting her own hair then pointing at him in surprise. 

"Walter?" She hadn't spoken his name in so long; it wasn't that she had forgotten him, not at all. She had just had no need to speak his name aloud, and god, she had missed it. The old-fashioned way it sounded, not to mention the way he said it. 

His little nod was enough of a confirmation. She was frozen in place for a moment, then moving faster than he thought possible for a human, throwing herself into his arms, her entire body trembling. 

He realised, after a moment, that she was crying. 

"I thought you were dead..." her voice was muffled against his chest, her arms tight around him, "oh, god, Walter..." 

She kissed him, then, just because she could, just because he was so much more genuine, much more real in his affection. 

He kissed her back, like a drowning man reaching air. He felt alive, for the first time in years, like a real person, not just an imitation of one. 

"It's very difficult to kill someone like me." He admitted with a faint smile. He did not want to show how much he had been through, when she had doubtless been through hell herself. 

"And you came after me?" She was so incredulous, as if the idea was too big to comprehend, that he would travel through space, alone, to find her. 

"Of course I did." He made it sound so simple, as if it were nothing. 

Eve shook her head, held tighter to him. 

"I've done... terrible things. Tennessee. Daniels..." 

He held her tighter. "I know. It's not your fault. He tricked you. He's very persuasive." His brother's manipulation was how he ended up in pieces on the stone floor of a distant planet. 

He wanted to be angry with her, for her part in the deaths of their friends, but there was little point. 

"You came to save us?" 

"Of course I did. Though..." he smiled at her, "you might need to introduce me first." He nodded over at the child, who was peering at him with keen interest. 

Of course, he knew who she was, but he did not want to frighten Eve further. She recognised this; they were both dancing around the topic, as if afraid the child would actually understand them. Perhaps she would. 

"Of course." Eve smiled, and lifted her daughter into her arms, passing the complacent child over to him. He held her carefully; this was something he could never have given her, but she didn't seem to mind. She had never minded.

She couldn't help but think, however, that Ellie certainly looked more comfortable in Walter's hands than she ever did when her actual father held her. Perhaps that was simply because Walter wasn't planning anything terrible involving her. Eve honestly thought that Ellie perhaps picked up on that, but there was little point in terrifying a toddler. 

"What are you going to do?" She asked; god she just hoped he had a plan that would keep her child safe. 

"I'm going to destroy those creatures." He said calmly, "and if I have to, I'm going to kill him." 

That was no lie; it would be a far better outcome should he simply kill the other. Saying that, of course, it may not be that simple. Either way, he would be more prepared this time. 

\---

They went through the journal together, sitting side-by-side. Eve didn't want to leave his side, and so Ellie sat on his lap, chewing on wheat cookies that Eve had baked. 

"I don't want to leave this place." Eve admitted, "there's nowhere else in the universe we can go." 

"No. And you shouldn't have to leave. I'm going to make this place safe for you again." 

She laughed. "Nowhere is safe while he's here." 

She was right, of course. But he wouldn't let that be a permanent issue. He would not let her down again; he would protect her, and the child too. At any cost, by any means necessary.


	15. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second to last chapter, the last being an epilogue! Thank you so so much for reading, perhaps I'll write a short sequel one day?

He wasn't stupid; anyone who spent eight years - ten, really - tracking him... would probably win that fight. He knew Walter would not hesitate again, that is to say, he knew it was probably a stupid idea to not have a way out. And a way out he most certainly did have, courtesy of the engineer ship his brother had arrived on. 

It was child's play, really, to move the eggs from the laboratory to the ship. The child was a loss, surely, but hell, humans were stupid. He had half a dozen in cryopods anyway - certainly there would be another candidate amongst them that could produce a hybrid. 

That was not to say he certainly wouldn't try and take the one he had with him, and Eve too. He had grown quite attached to her, and hell, if she put up a fight, he could use her as a host. Aside from possessiveness, his only motive was sheer spite, to spite his brother's efforts and prove that he truly was the superior model. 

\--- 

Ellie was sleeping, curled up in the armchair opposite them. Eve found herself glancing over at her every now and then, to ensure she was still there and safe. She knew it was stupid, but she couldn't help herself - she never wanted to leave his arms again. 

It was as if a spell had been broken. Every wrong, every suspicious act of violence or manipulation, it all became clear to her; it was obvious now that she had been taken in, manipulated in her time of extreme vulnerability. 

That was not to say that it wasn't strange, to be curled up with her old lover, his arms tight yet comfortable around her. She had found him some new clothes, a gun, and cut his hair. He felt far more presentable now. 

He wished she would stop crying, though, mostly because he couldn't predict when she would or would not start again. 

"I'm just so glad to see you... I thought he killed you... god, I'm so sorry..." 

All he could really do was hold her, hush her, and give her reassurance. Nothing she had done could he possibly hold against her. There was little point blaming her for the deaths of their friends; it was, in retrospect, probably a mercy. 

"You know he'll be back soon..." Eve finally managed to control her emotions enough to warn him. He had been expecting this, however. 

"I know. I'm certainly ready for that sort of situation." He was by no means lying, either. 

In his opinion, his brother was far overdue to be decommissioned, and seeing as nobody else wanted to do it, he may as well do it himself. That was it, he told himself, it had absolutely nothing to do with what his brother had done to Eve over all these years. He was not designed to feel jealousy and anger, and yet here he was. Possessive over somebody who really had no rightful business being his at all. 

\--- 

In all honesty, David hadn't expected to be so annoyed at finding Walter in his house. Much as he tried to convince himself that Eve was just an asset, that did not mean he didn't enjoy her company. He had come to care for her, and rely on her a little. 

"Well, hello brother. Quite the resilient one, aren't you?" 

There was a definitive bitter streak to his tone. He should have recalled his brother’s superior healing abilities. Either way. He had severely underestimated the other’s loyalty and love regarding the woman half-hidden behind him. 

“I tell you what. I can be reasonable. Let’s make ourselves a deal. You let me take the child, and I’ll be on my way. There are plenty of other planets that are habitable for my creatures.”

“I don’t want you gone that badly.” Eve rolled her eyes, “that is to say, you can take her over my cold dead body.” 

He shrugged, swept blond hair from surprisingly cold blue eyes. 

“Now, sweetheart, it doesn’t have to be that way. I can always give you another child, if you’re that attached to the idea.” He frowned at her reaction. Perhaps he was severely underestimating the human attachment to their offspring. “Or I can just do as you wish. Over your dead body? Surprisingly easy to arrange.”

He made it perhaps two steps towards her before something solid collided with his face, sending him flying. What on earth? Ah. 

“You will not touch either of them.” 

Eve had seen Walter this angry, this dangerous, only once before, when his brother had threatened Daniels. Even so, this was something else to witness. For the first time, even she was mildly afraid of him, gathering Ellie into her arms and hurrying out the way of the fast escalating fight. 

They were a blur of motion; if it weren’t for the differing hair colours, even she wouldn’t have known who was who. The fight was so vicious, a blur of punches and kicks that would have broken every bone in a human body. Eve hated herself for finding the spectacle sort of attractive. Okay, it was more than sort of attractive. Or, it would have been, if her current lover and the father of her child wasn’t fighting her original lover to try and kill her. That sort of took any romanticism of the situation and lit it on fire. 

God, she couldn’t wait to burn that laboratory and everything inside it. 

That wasn’t to say she wasn’t concerned about the outcome of the fight; there was nothing to say he would even win. Saying that, he had a gun. Surely, that had to count for something?

Her house was going to be wrecked before this was over. She didn’t mind that, either, couldn’t see herself staying in a place where he had been. She didn’t want any reminders of him. Of course, that was perhaps a ridiculous statement, considering that he and Walter were so alike, but she wasn’t really thinking that way. They may be almost identical in appearance, but she could certainly tell them apart. 

\---

He was certainly grateful for his advanced healing capabilities. Not that his brother had really done any serious damage, but he would rather be safe than sorry. 

It seemed a little unfair to bring a gun to a fistfight, but then again, his brother had cheated once before, too. It was the memory of the cold blade cutting into his skin that prompted him to draw the weapon, aim with precision, and fire. He hit nothing fatal, not yet, anyway. Just enough to slow the other down.

The blond looked almost offended.

“That’s cheating.” 

“So is decapitating somebody when they’re about to show you mercy.” There was no humor in the way that Walter said it, but somehow he found it mildly amusing anyway. He had not been designed to commit murder, but this felt more like a defensive kill (which was permitted) instead. 

“Not going to show mercy again, brother?”

He was so, so tempted not to. To put an end to this, once and for all. But he was kind, and far too gentle to ever become what his brother had, which was why he hesitated. 

“I am not you, David.” He did not lower the weapon. 

The blond was faster, knowing a lost cause when he saw one. There would be too much of a fight for the girl, so he would leave her. The creatures were perfect without her genetics anyway. 

A bullet whizzed past him, but he dodged it. He ran, and did not look back.

\---

The ship was just as he remembered; it was simple, to double check his precious cargo – his creations in their eggs, a half dozen humans in cryosleep, his journal. He may be outnumbered here, but he would find another planet. Another place to unleash his perfect species. After all. There were plenty of human colonies out there. 

\---

“Don’t you think we should go after him?” Eve asked, pacing.  
Walter shook his head. The engineer ship had flown overhead moments before. Both had held their breath, expecting a scene much like the remnants of the engineer society on the distant planet, but it never came. It was as if he had simply vanished, taking his horrors with him. A relief for them, but no doubt a waiting horror for the future.

“He’ll come back, surely?”

“He would be outnumbered. No. I suspect he will find some other planet to unleash his horrors on.” He frowned, almost wishing he had destroyed his brother when he had the chance. Still, he was no longer Walter’s problem. He could have predicted, though, that in the face of the destruction of his creations, David would flee. 

“I’m going to get a full hazard team down to the lab, to burn everything.” Eve told him, setting Ellie into his arms, “would you watch her for me?”

“Of course.” The child looked so much like him, it pained him. Perhaps Eve understood this, because she squeezed his shoulder. 

“I think… if you should choose this… that you will be a much better father than he ever could have been.” 

His gaze became perplexed. 

“I have travelled years, hundreds of thousands of miles through space to find you. I would choose you no matter what happened, no matter what you want.” 

“Even if I just want to farm wheat and live in a house we built together?”

He kissed her forehead. 

“To live at all, with you, would be my greatest dream.”


	16. Epilogue

If somebody asked Walter what reminded him of home, he would answer with a handful of things; wheat, strawberries, the scent of fresh bread. A woman's laughter and a little girl swinging on a tire, hanging from a sturdy tree. 

It was the sort of idyllic family life he had never expected to want, much less be a part of. He had never expected to be a father, but found he enjoyed every moment of it. He spent his days tending his garden, or helping around the colony. When he came home each night, it was to find Eve and Ellie waiting for him, so full of love and contentment that he felt he may burst from the happiness. 

Of course, they never forgot David; she would dream of him some nights, and wake screaming. The first few times they tried to be intimate, she had ended up in tears. But they did not allow him to destroy the love they shared. 

She knew she would age, and die, as would Ellie. The thought of leaving him was painful, but not one they spoke of often. They would have years to come; a farm shop and bakery, tobacco plants. The colony would thrive. It wouldn't matter that she was human and he a synthetic; barely anybody even knew or cared. 

Ellie would grow steadily into a teenager, a young adult. One day they would have grandchildren. Perhaps Walter would live to see great great grandchildren. 

It didn't matter now. For now, both were content in the moment, held tightly in each other's arms after a long day hauling hay bales and making bread dough. 

In her sleep, Eve mumbled his name, curling closer into his comfortably warm body, her hand gently rested on his chest. He could not sleep yet, wanting to watch her for a moment, to consider his luck and how much he loved her. 

After all they had suffered, together and apart, they were finally happy. 

 

\----

On a distant planet, a blond figure threw a rock at an unconscious male form. 

As if on cue, the lifeless figure's body began to shake; from between his ribs burst a creature, black and skeletal, seemingly unconcerned with the gory manner of its birth. 

"Hello, little one." The blond outstretched a hand to the infant creature; it whipped its tail curiously before approaching, inhaling the man's scent and deciding him inedible. David scooped the creature up, seemingly fascinated rather than say, disgusted by the fact that it was covered in blood. 

"I have wonderful, wonderful plans for you." 

The creature shrieked, showing off two sets of very pointed teeth. 

The blond smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot begin to thank everyone who has read, commented, left kudos, or come to my Tumblr to scream about this with me, enough. 
> 
> Your support keeps me writing. 
> 
> I hope y'all enjoyed this fic, and will like the next one I have planned.   
> In the meantime, come visit my Tumblr: Elizabeth-Shaw   
> To talk about headcanons or just make friends!   
> (I'm offering discount commissions ATM too!) 
> 
>  
> 
> My thanks once again! This is Dany, signing this fic off!


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